


The Beginning

by Queen-Of-Kocari-Wilds (bakasukebe)



Series: The Untold Tale of the Dragon Age [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Bisexual, F/F, F/M, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Gay, Lesbian, Little bit of angst, M/M, Monogamy, Multiple Pairings, Slow Burn, Vashoth, best friends forever to best wives forever, bff to bwf, but happy gay endings, lore fixing, lore so much lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 23:38:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 66,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4896661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakasukebe/pseuds/Queen-Of-Kocari-Wilds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Tis surprising yet predictable, wonderful and terrifying, kind and cruel, freeing and binding. So many believe they're unworthy of such a thing, they fear it, loathe it and yet they crave it, with every fibre of their being. </p><p>Love truly is the strangest, and strongest force to exist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Here we Stand

**Ostagar**

A rock of thunder echoed across the sky, followed by crack of lightening, like a wipe it tore through the cloud, splitting them open. Fat drops of rain began to splatter onto the stone beneath their feet, slow and sparse at first, but they soon picked up their pace and went from a calm pitter patter to a roaring storm, surrounding the strangers and trapping them under the leaking cover the ancient ruin provided them with. 

Lyna’s legs felt week as she stood in the circle with the other new Warden recruits, she was leaning fully onto another body- she wasn’t sure who he was, she knew he’d told her his name, but now she could barely remember her own. The taint felt like it was taking over every vein in her body, flowing through to the darkest corners of her mind and corrupting them, she didn’t know how long they stood before she thought she saw a bird swoop down and turn into a horned woman before them.

“Creators, the taint really does drive people mad.” She thought she mumbled aloud, but she wasn’t certain anymore.

“Sorry I’m late.” The magical women spoke breathlessly, before moving closer to Lyn and then replacing the man who’d been holding her up so far, but instead of letting her lean on them, she scooped Lyna up and carried her like a child.  Lyna would have usually protested, but she felt so weak that she was grateful to rest in the large woman’s arms.

“We must move quickly.” She heard the Commander speak, and then moments later, a foul tasting liquid was pressed to her lips and she was forced to drink, gulping it as it ran thickly down her throat. She would have gagged the putrid concoction back up had a calloused hand not sealed her mouth shut, forcing her to drink. Then, as the vile iron flavoured drink fought the taint in her veins, she felt herself slip away once again.

Alim could only watch in horror as he watched the young Dalish elf spasm and convulse in the arms of the horned woman, before finally slipping away.

“She’ll make it.” She spoke affirmatively, but Alim wasn’t so confident, the girl looked well and truly dead as she was lain on the floor. Maker, how did he get here? Just a few weeks ago he’d been sitting comfortably in the tower, and since then, he’d accidentally helped a blood mage escape free, encountered a living legend and her disagreeable daughter in the wilds, and now, now he was about to drink darkspawn blood to join an ancient order, then fight in a battle for the fate of Ferelden, and quite possibly the world. This had to be a dream, or a trick of the fade or _something_. But as the sickly stench of the elixir reached his nose, he was rudely reminded that this was, in fact, reality. Alim looked up to the commander as he was handed the chalice, desperately begging in silence for another way, but he gave him none.

“Don’t worry, I’ll catch you if you pass out.” The young man, Alistair his name was, spoke up from behind him, in a tone Alim supposed was meant to be comforting. It was not.

Alim then quickly downed his share before he could change his mind, he felt a sick twist in his gut before falling unconscious, Alistair was fast to catch him before he could hit his head on the stone beneath them.

 _If a couple of elves can do this, so can I._ Natia assured herself, determined not to wet her small clothes as the chalice was finally brought to her.

“Great, so I get all their backwash, this is cause I’m shortest aint it?” She joked, trying to steady herself as she prepared to take the plunge. _If they can do this so can I. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this._ Then Duncan stood before her, holding the chalice out, waiting for her to take it from him. Natia looked to the woman standing behind him, _She’s sodding huge._ She thought, Natia couldn’t be taller than her thighs, she’d heard of them before, Tal-Vashoth they were. Carta hired them all the time…

Her thoughts were interrupted as Commander Duncan cleared his throat and gestured to the chalice.

 _Yeah, I can’t do this_. Natia thought before turning and sprinting in the opposite direction, running as fast as her short legs would carry her, down the steps and away from the surprised, and now rather angry Grey Wardens.

She didn’t get far before the long-legged woman was galloping behind her, and then her massive arms were locked around Natia in vice like grip. But Natia wasn’t done, she thrashed and fought against the woman’s strong arms.

“You sodding giant! Let me go! I aint gonna drink it! You can’t make me!” Natia bellowed from deep in her lungs, as she tired herself out fighting against her captor.

“Hold still you-“ The giant woman scolded, but was interrupted with her own yelp of pain as the squirming dwarf bit down on her hand with everything in her, she tasted blood on her tongue and felt the crunch of a broken finger or three, but unfortunately for her, she was up against a behemoth of a warden, who only seemed to tighten her arms around the dwarf. Still, the bite _hurt_ and that’s all Natia really wanted, even if it wasn’t enough to break free.

“Hold her still!” Duncan ordered, before speaking to Natia once more. “I’m sorry but this was your choice.” Then he held her nose tight and downed the chalice into her mouth before holding her jaw closed, like she was a disobedient hound refusing its medicine. Then she slipped away into a restless sleep.

Alistair stood at the top the steps leading to the ritual tower, simply watching with a bemused look on his face at the sight before him, the Vashoth sat on the floor with the unconscious Dwarven woman trapped in her arms, like a child who’d fallen asleep mid-tantrum. And Duncan who sat opposite them, the empty chalice in his hand with flushed cheeks and mussed hair, and behind them stood King Cailan Theiren of Ferelden bent over in a belly aching laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back, I thought I'd start of with a short chapter, I've only made some slight changes to this scene which you'll find with most, the only things that have changed a large amount are the scenes with Solona... Who essentially doesn't exist anymore. I've changed her so much that she can't really be considered the same character anymore, our protagonist's name is now Ata. She has the same personality and her relationship with Morrigan will be the same, but her background is very different, including the circle. Ata will never have been a circle mage, and would have been born Vashoth, but that is all I'll divulge for now.  
> I'll leave a rating in the summary for each chapter, to let you know how much they've changed, 1- will mean that all i've done is fix the grammar and spelling and have just improved the writing slightly, but the narrative will stay pretty much the same. 2- will mean that I've improved the chapter, but also made slight changes to the narrative. 3- will mean I've improved it and drastically changed the narrative. If there is no rating then it means this is a completely new chapter. I recommend reading all the 2 & 3 chapters, and just having a skim through the 1 chapters if you don't feel like re-reading them just so you know what that chapter covered, because I've re-arranged it slightly, so the narrative isn't as split up. For example, all of Alim's background in the circle before he joined the wardens will be one chapter, the same with Natia and Lyna.  
> Not much has changed for those three, but I have made changes to their chapters, mostly Alim's, so that it fits the new narrative I have for Ata. Whose back story is completely changed, and therefor her relationship with others (mainly Cullen and Anders) will either not exist at all or be very different.  
> Thank you so much for patience, please enjoy the new and improved story, and for those who have no idea what I'm talking about, simply enjoy!


	2. Telanadas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the backstory of Lyna Maharial of Clan Sabrae (1)

****Telanadas** **

**Clan Sabrae-**

“Last one to the lake’s a rotten shem!” Lyna cheered behind her as she scampered down past the trees, vines and shrubbery with the speed of an arrow. Her short dark hair freeing itself from the confines of her leather tie, as it bounced around her wide slanted brown eyes, restricting her view and causing her to stumble over a stray log. But a hunter of the Dalish was not so easily faltered; she was quick to recover as she leaped over a rock that would have been sure to break her ankle.

“I don’t understand! I thought shemlen meant they were quick?” Merrill breathlessly called after the hunter, her bare feet light and fast on the cold mud, but she still trailed behind her more athletic clan sister; the keeper’s first was not built for races and hunts, but for the study of the ancient elves and magic forbidden by the chantry that loomed over the small clan.

“Try not to think about it too much, lethallan!” She heard Tamlen’s voice call as he bolted past her, tearing through the forest as Merrill lost sight of him. Then, after only moments of him disappearing into the wild life, she heard a scream from Lyna and Tamlen both, then the splash of two bodies falling into water. She felt a fire build in her lungs and the muscles in her legs as she strained her entire body to push itself as fast as it could.

“Tamlen? Lyna?” She cried, the panic shaking in her voice; she burst forward to catch up with them, her staff drawn and ready. She’d never battled anything before with her magic, but she wasn’t going to let anything happen to her friends, not without a fight anyway. Brandishing her staff, she burst through the trees to the clearing where the lake rippled and writhed with life, but Merrill didn’t have time to appreciate the cascading waterfall and the song birds singing her favourite tunes, or the bathing halla and the array of flowers bursting with colours. “Lyn! Tamlen!” She called again, but there were no signs of her friends, she turned around to search the trees once more when she felt a two wet hands grab her ankles, and with a tug and a shriek of laughter, the two hunters pulled the poor keeper-in-training into the waters with them. Merrill was under the water only a few moments, and when she popped her head back up her cheeks were a bright red as she scolded her brother and sister. “Oh you two! I was- I thought!” But her anger quickly faltered as she melted into giggles, splashing water and playing as if they were children, a fact that wouldn’t be true for long, tonight was the night they’d receive their Vallaslin, and officially become adults of the Sabrae clan.

 

* * *

 

 

Tamlen blinked back the tears welling in eyes, clenching his fists to block out the pain of the slim needle etching the symbols of Mythal into his skin, letting out only the smallest whimpers when a curve ended at the corners of his mouth.

“You did well, Da’len.” The elder reassured him as he dabbed away the blood from the young man’s face, “I’ve known some of our most fearsome warriors to cry for their mother when faced with the needle.”

Tamlen dared not open his mouth to reply, in case his voice shook from the pain still throbbing across his skin, like flames running through the crevices of his face, instead he gave an affirmative nod as his griped the leather of his armour. The elder simply nodded in return with a small chuckle, “I believe Lyna will be finished now as well, I aspect you’ll want to return to her side, you two have been joined at the hip since you were young.” At his words Tamlen felt a blush seep into his cheeks, he cleared his throat before he replied.

“She’s like my sister, since we were children.” He defended unconvincingly, brushing his hair back from his face, damp with sweat.

“Aye, of course Da’len, but you look at her like no sister, and you are not children any longer.” The elder rose from his stool in the small aravel as he spoke, turning his back on the bright red Tamlen, who sat with his mouth a gap, unable to arrive at a reply. “You will need to be matched eventually, Da’len it would be best if you make the decision yourself lest you regret it later, or are sent to be a groom in another clan.”

“I-uh-I-“ Tamlen spluttered out but he was too taken aback to form a coherent sentence, until eventually the elder spared him,

“Ignore me Da’len; I’m just a nosy Haren, you’re capable of making decisions without me prodding you.” The elder dismissed his thoughts with a flick of his wrist, Tamlen simply nodded with a look of complete bewilderment slapped across his freshly tattooed face. He then rushed out of the land ship, almost tripping over his own feet in his rush into the cool night air.

 

* * *

 

“You’re so brave, Lethallan.” Merrill admired her friend as she tried to soothe her own pain with a cool rag, “I don’t know how you didn’t cry, I did, and Tamlen probably did to. Not that he would say anything, I wonder why?”

“He wants us to think he’s brave.” Lyna smiled fondly at the young First’s babbling; she had always found it oddly calming, how unfazed Merrill was by everything. How well she could bounce back, finding the simplicity in the most complex of situations and the complexity of even the simplest of problems.

“Is crying cowardly?” She queried, her eyes watching intently at Lyna’s quick hands, as they weaved the leather straps in and out of a set of clothes she was crafting. Merrill knew she’d be a master crafter if she weren’t such a great hunter, “You’re so good at everything, not like me.”

Lyna didn’t look up as she spoke, a small smile tugging at her lips, “I’m not good at magic.”

“No,” Merrill giggled at her response, “No, I suppose you’re not.” Lyna could always pull a laugh out of people, despite how stoic she appeared.

Lyna finally looked up from the set of trousers when Tamlen’s light footstep announced his approach; her content smile reached her eyes when she saw him, a blush dusting her freckled cheeks.

“How was it?” She asked, noticing the red blotches around his blood shot eyes.

“Hah!” Tamlen shrugged off her concern, “Barely a scratch.” He scoffed, taking a seat on a log between the two girls- women now. “And you?” He tried to ask casually, but the way his eyes inspected her raw face so intently was telling, even Merrill, usually blind to such things could see the worry in his eyes.

“I’m fine, lethallin.” Lyna smiled in return, Tamlen felt a stab of envy, how could she be so strong?

“I thought you were going with Falon’din?” Merrill asked, her green eyes wide and curious, when Tamlen met her gaze she reminded him of a small bird. It confused him as to why a kind hearted innocent such as herself would bear the marks of the god death, so optimistic, so… cheerful, what had she lost? She was to be their Keeper one day, perhaps it is for the lost knowledge she would be tasked with keeping? Tamlen did not think he could carry such a weighted responsibility.

“Mythal is the protector, she fights for justice, I want to as well.” Tamlen spoke simply, keeping the depth of his reasoning hidden. “Why have you gone with Andruil, Lyna?”

“I am a hunter, no? I’m good at it and want provide for my clan and, one day, my family.” Lyna had lowered her gaze as she spoke, as if what she was doing required her utmost concentration, when in fact she could probably do it in her sleep.

“Family?” Tamlen pressed, his gaze also now near glued to her hands as they worked with the leather strips.

“Yes, like you,” She looked up then and caught his eye, there was a brief pause before she continued, “and Merrill-“ But when she turned to see her friend, she found the space where she sat empty. They both let out awkward laughs at the realisation, Merrill was no hunter, but she could be deadly silent like one when she wanted. 

“I suppose we’ll all start our own families soon.” Tamlen began, wringing his hands together, had they always been so clammy? “The elders will match us sooner or later.” He let his words hang between them, testing the waters and gauging her reaction.

“I suppose we shall.” Lyna gave nothing away in her tone, but if Tamlen had known anything about how to craft trousers, he’d have noticed that she had now made one leg twice the length of the other. However, he had never crafted anything a day in his life.

“How do you feel about it?” He prodded further, whilst he hadn’t notice how he’d slowly inched closer to her, Lyna was very, very aware. It took her a moment but she eventually pulled her gaze up to meet his.

“I can’t wait.” Her freckle dusted, sun-kissed cheeks took on a rosy tint, her soft smile melting her brown eyes and warming something deep in Tamlen’s chest. They sat there for just a handful of seconds, but it felt eternal.

“Ah!” They both snapped their heads away to the sound of Merrill’s cry, along with the thud of a body hitting the ground. In sync they jumped to their feet and ran to the commotion coming from the tree line that surrounded the clan.

“Merrill?” Tamlen called out as Lyna searched the darkness for their friend, it only took her a second before they found her, along with two hunters only a year or two older than them. “What’s going on here?” Tamlen demanded from behind Lyna who was quick to put herself between the two larger boys and her friend.

“Back off _da’len_.” The taller of the two mocked, Lenar, his name was. The other was Pavin, one of the few other mages amongst the clan.

“We were just playing with our _First_.” Pavin, the Keeper’s third nearly spat as he glared at the young apprentice.

“Why don’t you _play_ ,” Lyna took another step forward to the pair, “with someone your own size?” Tamlen was quick to step to her side, the pair was younger and scrawnier than the other two, but Lyna would never back down if someone hurt Merrill, and if she didn’t back down, neither would Tamlen.

“Or how about, you and that little _freak_ go back to your own clans.” Pavin took another step forward and shoved her back, she was quick to steady herself. But it was Tamlen that threw himself at Pavin, Lenar then jumped to his friend’s defence, and then Lyna was pulled in too. They scraped for only a few minutes, pulling and biting with the odd punch thrown in, before a group of impatient elders pulled them apart then sent them all to sit in separate corners of the camp.

“Sorry lethallan,” Merrill apologised for the umpteenth time as she dabbed at Lyna’s swollen lip, “I didn’t want anyone to get hurt, that’s why I told the Keeper.”

“It’s okay Merrill, I promise.” Lyna assured again, “No one was gonna get hurt, just a bunch of dumb hunters beating their chests as usual. But it’s good you got them, it was stupid of us to _actually_ fight them, what was Tamlen thinking? The idiot just threw himself at him.” She sighed, it’s a good thing the Keeper had banned anyone carrying weapons around the camp unless they were on guard, things could’ve gotten serious, none of them would want to hurt each other like that, but in the heat of the moment, things can get ugly. Merrill’s giggle snapped Lyna out of her deep thought. “What?” She smiled; Merrill had the sweetest laugh, “Why are you laughing?”

“Oh nothing,” Yet a smile still lingered on her lips, “I think you two are so _adorable_.” She sighed.

“Oh for- You’re as bad as Ashalle.” Lyna huffed.

“You can be matched now, why don’t you just talk to him?” Merrill giggled again at her friend’s frustration.

“I have, sort of; the poor boy seems oblivious to my feelings.” She sighed, letting herself fall back onto the soft grass, and then patted the space next to her, inviting Merrill to rest at her side. “I was hoping he’d make the first move.”

“Well, Tamlen never has been very bright, not to say he isn’t clever in other ways. There was that time when no one could figure out where that weird fishy smell was coming from, and then he found that dead frog by the river, that was very clever. Sort of.” Merrill ended her rambling when Lyna descended into stomach aching giggles, in which she couldn’t help but join in.

“Merrill, you _are_ wonderful.” She gasped between bouts of laughter, Merrill felt her cheeks heat up, Lyna always handed her such compliments, but they were never easy to swallow. “Right.” Lyna suddenly sat up straight, a look of gleeful determination on her face. “Tomorrow I will go hunting with Tamlen, and I will-“ She paused a moment, a blush leaving her cheeks a lovely tinted pink colour, “I will propose to him.”

“Yay!” Merrill gave a delicious squeal as she lunged a hug at her dearest and oldest friend, everything would change tomorrow, for better or worse.

 

* * *

 

“So Tamlen...” Lyna began as they trudged through the woods, they needn’t use stealth yet, not until they neared the river, were the game lay waiting for them.

“Lethallan?” Tamlen pressed after the pause went on a moment too long.

“Yes, right.” Lyna cleared her throat, she had felt so confident about this the night before when talking things out with Merrill, but the reality was much trickier. “We spoke yesterday, about families, and how we would soon be matched.” She paused once again, “And I was wondering if you had given it more thought, that is to say, do you have anyone in mind for who you would like to be matched to?”

Tamlen stopped dead in his tracks, his freshly tattooed face blushed like he was a child, he tried to laugh it off as he turned to face her.

“A strange question, sister.” He adjusted his shield strapped to his back so he could lean comfortably on a tree, facing her.

“Is it?” Lyna smiled as she matched his stance, her brown eyes watching, taking him in, she could not help but feel a little glee at his attempts at nonchalance. He’d been popular among the girls in their clan, and others, he could charm them all, yet with her he seemed to fumble for words when she confronted him like this. It gave her no small amount of pleasure, though she would never admit it. “We are friends, aren’t we? All our lives, doesn’t that mean we’re close enough for you tell me such important things?”

“I suppose…” His voice trailed away as he met her gaze, she pushed herself off the tree and took a slow, step closer to him. As if to hear him better, he did tend to mumble, not that she minded, in fact, she found it rather cute. “I have thought about it, a bit.” A lot, he’d thought about it, _a lot_.

“Will you tell me?” She was closer now, within arm’s reach if either dared to try. “I would like to know.”

“What of you, Lyna? Who would you like to be matched to?” In that moment she saw a little flash of understanding cross his bright blue eyes, _finally_. Then they were simply a breath away, she watched his eyes as they glanced to her lips, before returning to her gaze.

“You.”

Then, at last, their lips met. The kiss was soft, just the light brush of pink flesh; a question. Too which Tamlen answered with a breathless ‘vhenan’ as his arms encircled her waist, holding her close as they kissed each other with clumsy and unsure lips. Lyna cupped her loves hot cheeks in her cool steady hands when they parted, neither could hold back their shameless grins.

“Would you like to marry me, Lyna?” Tamlen couldn’t hold back the joy in his words, the pure content in his smile.

“I would have it no other way, ma vhenan’ara.” And she had never felt more certain or sure of anything in her life.

But the young lovers’ moment of sanctuary was quickly broken as the sound of reckless stamping of lost shemlen caught both of their attentions. “Later.” She promised with a final kiss before they drew their bows and ran deeper into the woods.

 

* * *

 

The humans lay dead.

That’s hardly significant, in the grand scheme of things, but as Lyna was laying there, feeling the life seep out of her. She couldn’t help but think that she should have spared them, they meant no harm, not really. The forest would have killed them anyway. She thought. But at least that way she might have had a clearer conscience.

Where is Tamlen?

He was always trying to impress her, she loved it really, she felt special, loved. But Creators why couldn’t he listen to her? She didn’t say she loved him, not really, she opened her eyes, the darkspawn were there still. Why did they not notice her? The song in her veins gave her the answer.

She did not speak, for fear of their ignorance fading, her eyes darted across the cave. Her pointed ears twitching at every sound as she lay on the ground, her body paralyzed by the fire burning through her blood. A whimper of pain caught her ear, she turned her head as much she could and there he was.

Tamlen saw her as she saw him, immediately he pulled himself up to crawl over to her. Lyna shook her head as much she could, her eyes glancing to the creatures that crept in the shadows around them. But he would not stop, he dragged his broken body until he was by her side. He reached his bloodied fingers to her cheek and left a kiss on her forehead.

“Ir abelas, ma sa’lath.” Tamlen whispered to her, she could not speak, but if she could she would tell him how much she loved him, in every way she could. She would tell him that she was stupid for letting her love go unspoken for so long, and that she would be with him every day of her life for the rest of her life, if she could. But she couldn’t, and she didn’t.

She simply lay there, hoping her silent tears would be enough and then it all slipped away.

 

* * *

“You seem nervous, da’len” Keeper Marethari questioned the fidgeting First as they combed through the ancient scrolls they had found in an old ruin months ago, yet they had only deciphered a few phrases so far. Marethari had always hid it well, but she was as devastated by their lack of knowledge as Merrill was. So much was lost, and they knew that a lot of it would never be found again. Friend of the dead indeed.

“Oh it’s nothing! Well it’s not nothing, it’s just I’m not meant to tell anyone, not that it’s anything bad! That is-“

“Da’len…” The Keeper interrupted with a disappointed frown that always made her squirm.

“Well, I suppose you’ll find out anyway…” Merrill pondered it for but a moment before she divulged her news a with grin oozing with glee. “But… Lyna and Tamlen are in love!”

“Da’len, when you said you had a something to tell, I assumed it wasn’t something the whole clan already knows.” She chuckled as she scribbled down a note on a piece of parchment with an ink stained left hand.

“No! Well I mean, yes obviously, but,” Merrill shook her head, frustrated with herself, “I _mean_ , Lyna’s proposing today! They’ll be married!” She nearly burst with excitement when she finally managed to splutter the words out.

“Well that’s wonderful da’len, does Ashalle know?” The wizened Keeper asked with smile, her kind yes crinkling with crow’s feet in the corners.

“Lyna wanted to tell everyone herself, “ Merrill let out a dreamy sigh, “It’s so romantic.” She cooed, resting her face on her palm as she let her mind drift into fantasy.

“And what of you da’len? Is there anyone you treasure above all; someone you wish to be matched to?” The Keeper queried with the cock of her brow, Merrill didn’t hesitate with a confused reply.

“That seems awfully selfish doesn’t it? How could I love someone above everyone else? I love lots of people.”

“It’s not the same sort of love da’len; the way you love Tamlen and Lyna, it is not the same way they love each other.” The Keeper explained with a smile, the kind of smile you give child who doesn’t understand a simple truth. But was it true? Merrill was no fool. She knew there was the love of one family and clan, the love of one’s friends and the love of one’s lover and that they were all different. But sometimes she wondered which of those loves she had for her clan siblings.

Not that she would ever say anything; on the rare occasion she sensed the same feelings from both them, but she wouldn’t be jealous if they were to be married, and she was no more than a friend, a sister. So long as they were happy and safe, she would be too. That would always be enough for her.

“Keeper!” The call of one of their hunters broke Merrill from her deep thought, “Keeper come quick, she’s injured!”

The Keeper and her first both stood as a strange shemlen carried the body of Lyna towards them.

“Creators! What happened?” Keeper Marethari gasped as lay the beaten hunter onto a table in her aravel, “These slashes, glass?”Lyna’s skin was littered with slim but dip cuts, though they didn’t bleed; they oozed a black liquid the Keeper was all too familiar with.

“Where’s Tamlen?” Merrill asked in a small voice, her wide eyes beginning to tear up, he wouldn’t leave her side, not willingly, if she were this badly wounded.

“I’m afraid I don’t know, she was alone in the cave.” The shem apologised, “It was flowing with darkness; I recognise it all too well. She’s infected with the blight; I do not think there is anything anyone can do; she is too far gone.”

“You need to leave, let me and Merrill deal with this, stranger,” The Keeper turned to Merrill, dragging her away from her spiraling shock. “I need you to help me, bandages, elfroot, poultices and lyrium. Quickly now.” Merrill nodded and without speaking rushed to gather the items, working on the wounds that littered her dearest friend’s body, cleaning the wounds so the Keeper could heal her. “There is dark magic plaguing her blood, I will not be able to cure her, only slow it down for now.” Merrill could not speak, she tried to blink away the tears as she worked but she couldn’t hold the sobs back as she moved with shaky hands. But she didn’t stop, she would save Mahariel, she would not let her friend die, and then they she would find Tamlen. They had to be safe, _they had to be_.

 

* * *

 

“Tamlen? Tamlen!” Lyna called out into the darkness, but he was already gone, she stumbled forward, searching longing, lost. “Tamlen!” Her throat was hoarse and cracked, how long had she been calling out for him? Where had he gone?

And then the song began, a bitter sweet call that coaxed out the darkest parts of her heart, calling her home. Lyna ran towards it with everything in her, he was there, she knew it. An icy cold hand reached out to her, _Tamlen._ He was just out of reach when a wall of flame roared between them.

“Come back.” A familiar voice begged, “Please come back, _please._ Don’t leave me alone, lethallan.

Merrill sobbed into the palms of her hand, her elbows resting by her friend’s dying side. It had been days now, and the Keeper didn’t think she would come back, the taint, she had called it. Incurable, only Grey Wardens could help her, and even then there was only a small chance.

“Please come back, please.” She could hardly get the words past her messy tears, “You can’t leave me; we have to find Tamlen.” _Ar lath ma_ , she wanted to say, but even on her death bed, Merrill couldn’t find the courage. She couldn’t even say her name.

“Merrill?”

Lyna could barely lift herself up before Merrill, without a word, threw her arms around her, dampening her shirt with her tears. Without words the two held each other close, arms so tightly clasping they were left breathless when they pulled away. Merrill let out a relieved laugh at seeing her friend awake.

“We didn’t- I didn’t think…” But Merrill couldn’t finish her sentence, just the thought made her heartbreak.

“It’s okay Merrill, I’m here.” She soothed, brushing the hair back from the apprentice’s face with a steady bandaged hand. “Where’s Tamlen?”

 

* * *

 

Merrill could only watch as the mirror was shattered by their Keeper. She had protested, but Marethari would have none, ‘it’s tainted, da’len, it will only spread its corruption further.’

But it mattered little in comparison. Tamlen was nowhere to be found, not even a body for them to lay to rest, she stood by Lyna’s side as they searched, calling out for him but as the hours passed they were forced to leave, the darkspawn had descended upon them and the clan moved on.

“You must go, da’len.” She couldn’t believe her ears, “You are a danger to the clan so long as you carry the taint, we can do nothing for you, I’m so sorry. You must go to Ostagar; the wardens are your only chance.”

When Lyna only sat in silence, her shoulders hunched and her head low, as if her despair was pulling her slowly to the ground, Merrill leapt to her defence.

“No you can’t! We have to help her!” She protested.

“If we do so, we risk the whole clan, the taint spreads fast, and even if it did not, I will not take the clan closer to the darkspawn. We’re going north. It brings me great pain but we must.” The Keeper’s eyes were cold and hard like steel, she had already mourned the loss, now she had to prevent the death of her entire clan. “She will not be alone; Warden Duncan will keep her safe.”

“But-“

“It’s fine Merrill, I wouldn’t let them come anyway, it would be selfish of me.” Lyna stood at last, but she could still not lift her head, her eyes dry and sore from her tears. “I would like to stay for Tamlen’s funeral, at least, if I may.”

“Of course, da’len. It makes me proud to see you be so strong.” Marethari tried to offer a reassuring smile, but it did not reach her eyes, the whole clan was destined to mourn that day.

“I will go with you then.” Merrill declared, determined.

“Your clan needs you now more than ever, da’len. Think past this pain, we have lost so many already.” The Keeper spoke definitively, leaving no room for further argument, not that Merrill could, she was the clan’s first, it was her duty to protect them.

“It’s okay Merrill.” Lyna assured her, but the crack in her voice betrayed her heartbreak, “I’ll be fine, and when it’s done, I’ll come back. I promise.”

Only a few words were spoken as they burned the empty pyre, with no body to bury the clan simply prayed to Falon’din that Tamlen find an easy grave, and promised never to forget him.

The goodbyes were brief, Lyna wanted to leave and quickly, not wanting to risk the clan, sparing only a moment to say goodbye to Ashalle.

She didn’t speak a word as she held Merrill close in a quick embrace, she would speak when she returned, Lyna would survive. She would return. She had to.


	3. Stand By Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The back story of Alim Surana of Kinloch Hold (2)

**Stand By Me**

**Alim Surana**

Jowan damn near jumped out of his skin, when Alim caught him by surprise with two playful jabs to the soft spots of his ribs.

“Maker’s breathe Alim!” Jowan yelped, spilling his ink pot over the letter his head had been hunched over, “You scared the life out of me.” He sighed as he tried to dab away the black stains from the paper with the sleeve of his robe. But his attempts failed as the thoughtful words ran down the parchment.

“Another love letter?” Alim queried with a cock of his brow, teasing a blush from his friend’s cheeks.

“Shhh!” Jowan quickly hissed at the young elf, glancing around the dorm for any Templars that may have been within ear shot.

“You’re too paranoid, Jowan, acting like you’ve done something wrong is what’ll get you in trouble.” Alim assured him as he slunk into a chair across from him, lazily resting his face into his hand on a propped elbow.

“Two of my siblings have faced almost the same fate within the circle now, of course I’m going to be paranoid; I can practically feel the Templars watching me.” Jowan whispered in hushed tones as he attempted to rub the ink stains from his sleeves, regretting his decision to use his robes as a rag for his ruined letter.

Alim pulled the letter from Jowan’s ink stained fingers, and held it close to his face so that he might decipher what little remained of the soggy parchment.

Jowan tried to snatch the letter from the elf’s fingers, but instead it tore in two, with a wet sound that made Alim’s skin crawl. He then took the other piece from Alim and mushed them both into a wet ball and dropped it into a waste basket; pushing past the rest of the paper with a heavy wet thud at the bottom.

“Onto a more interesting and topical subject, _how’s Lily_?” Alim asked with a sly smile, which only grew larger as he watched another blush creep up Jowan’s cheeks and to the tips of his ears.

“Actually… about that…” But Jowan’s words trailed off as two Templars approached the pair.

“To bed apprentice; it’s past sunset.” One of the two ordered to Jowan. How the Templars could tell whether it was night or day outside, Alim never understood, there were no windows on the lower floors, and the ones higher up were all glass stained with images of Andraste and the fall of Tevinter. A nice reminder to the inhabitants of the tower, of what happened to them the last time they were let free. “Surana, with us.”

“Hm?” Alim sat back in his chair as Jowan quickly gathered to his feet and scurried off to bed, “What for?”

“Do as you’re ordered, apprentice.” Commanded the other, unwilling to explain. After only a moment’s hesitation, Alim stood and followed the Templars out of the dorm and up the stairs away from the apprentice chambers, with a sickly knot of anxiety weighing him down in his stomach.

 

The harrowing, the dreaded test that every apprentice was taught to fear, a life or death moment that separates the mages from the tranquil, abominations, and apostates.

Wasn’t really that, well, harrowing.

Record time, he’d been told. The fastest, cleanest harrowing they had seen yet.

But Alim didn’t respond with his usually arrogant demeanour, he couldn’t accept the compliments and congratulations from his seniors.

_True tests never end._

The words the demon of pride had spoken to him still sifted through his brain, that’s what it was, wasn’t it? The circle, the Templars, all of it was a test for mages. It would last until the day he died, no matter how well he did, no matter how strong he was. They would never trust him, or any mage, they wouldn’t stop until they failed, then they ended up dead, or tranquil.

So deep in thought was he that he nearly bumped into Jowan as he made his way down the quiet hallway, and on his way to his new quarters. A reward apparently, he was a mage now, granted with the privilege of his own room. He now knew, when he would meet in the night for heated moments with mages, why they would not take him back to their rooms, rather than against a wall in a library, or under a table in a study. To say they were private quarters was nothing short of a lie.

It was not his own room, he didn’t even have a curtain to offer some manner of privacy, there were walls dividing each section, but they were all open to the room. You could see each mage’s room as you walked past to the end hall, like an exhibit, watching them in their natural habitat. Though it wasn’t natural at all, they were stolen creatures, now forced to adapt to the cage that they had no choice but to call home.

“So, you have to tell me, what was it like?” Jowan nagged at a sickly pale Alim as he pushed cold and watery scrambled egg around his plate, it was the morning, at least that’s what they were told. For all he knew, the world outside the tower could be long gone, though he supposed that couldn’t be true. How else would they get eggs for breakfast each morning?

“Hello? Alim?”

“Hm?” Alim was drawn out of his thought by an impatient Jowan.

“The harrowing.” He pressed, hungry for details as he lent over his plate, which although empty, was still wet with egg. Alim said nothing as the golden yoke stained the front of the apprentice’s clean robes.

“What about it?” Alim asked, he voice low and his words falling past his lips as if they were painful to say.

“Maker, you don’t look good, are you alright?” Jowan lent closer to his friend, smearing more egg into his clothes.

“Your robes.” Alim pointed to the mess with his fork, before dropping it onto his plate.

“Oh for- every time.” Jowan tutted at himself as he rubbed the egg into his robes with a napkin, momentarily forgetting his interrogation.

“And you’re meant to be nobility?” Alim felt a smile tug at the corner of his lips as his friend fumbled to wipe his breakfast from his clothes.

“Not since I was ten, I’ve been here longer than I was out there.” Jowan said, giving up on his robes and dropping the napkin onto his plate, “But you’ve been since you were what, seven?”

“Six.” Alim corrected, he didn’t remember his life before the circle, all he remembered was his father’s smile. He remembered big rough hands patting his head, ruffling his sandy hair with a proud beaming grin raining down on him. Then he remembers the blood, and his father crying out in pain, then the Templars. He tried not to dwell.

“And I’ve still been here longer, and yet you go through your harrowing before me? Don’t you think it’s strange?” Alim only shrugged in return, “Ah, well maybe I’m just being paranoid. Did you hear a group of Grey Wardens are passing through today?”

That pulled him into the conversation.

“Passing through?”

“Yeah, just one, they’ll be here for a day or two, I think.” Jowan explained, as they both got up and left the table, Alim moving his legs faster to keep up with Jowan’s long paces. Humans were tall enough, but Jowan’s height was ridiculous, his lanky frame seemed to tower over Alim whenever they spoke.

“Are they recruiting?” Alim prodded, not paying attention to where they were heading.

“How should I know? Do I look like a warden to you?” Jowan chuckled as he stopped and turned to the elf, who only just realised they were stood outside the chantry. “I need to ask you for a favour. It’s to do with Lily, and we need to talk in private.” Jowan’s sudden change in demeanour caught Alim of guard.

“So you’re finally going to do the deed and need some pointers? Of course.” Alim joked, trying to lighten things, but Jowan’s half laugh was unconvincing as he led Alim into the chantry.

…

Of all the fucking favours in the fucking world, of all the fucking things he could have fucking asked, fucking Jowan wanted to fucking break out of the fucking circle.

Alim had always considered himself to be an easy going guy, in fact he’d always made a conscious decision to do so, water off a nugs back. But he was reaching his limit.

He was okay with getting the fire rod, what he _wasn’t_ okay with was having to fight his way through _giant spiders_ to get it, wonderful. He was okay with going into the basement; however, he was _not_ impressed when it turned out that, thanks to the last grand escape of Kinloch hold, the doors were all enchanted with anti-magic spells, lovely. And then _of course_ , they had to fight themselves through an endless supply of ancient sentinels, just _darling_. But what he really just _adored_ about the whole affair was the talking fucking statue of an ancient fucking Tevinter fucking prophet.

“Why is this happening to me?” Alim asked aloud as he stood before a giant hole in the wall made by a Ferelden statue of a mabari hound.

“Don’t worry, we’re nearly done.” Jowan assured as he clambered over the rubble, offering a hand to Lily as she jumped down the small drop from the hole to the floor.

“For you, maybe. I’ll be left behind to deal with the consequence once you’re off having babies on a farm or something.” Alim grumbled and pulled his cloak tighter around his body,

“You’re staying are you? Is that why you brought your staff and cloak?” Jowan prodded with an arched brow. “Or are you waiting for us to beg you to come?”

“I do like begging.” Alim agreed allowing his mind wonder from the ridiculous situation he’d found himself in.

“Gross. But seriously,” Jowan paused and with a gentle tug of Alim’s sleeve, got his attention, “I wouldn’t have asked for your help if I didn’t want you to come with me, you’re like… like a brother to me.”

“But not actually, being one of your relatives seems to work out pretty terribly.” Alim joked, brushing off Jowan’s kindness before heading deeper into the phylacteries chamber, “Doesn’t matter anyway, mine’s not here, it’ll be on its way Denerim by now.”

Once the phylactery was found and destroyed the trio made their way back out of the cold stone walls of the basement, whilst shoving the images of cages and chains, that had caught the corners of their shifting eyes, to backs of their minds. As they did, a giddy sort of achievement seemed bubble around their auroras, they were nearly there, nearly free.

But Jowan couldn’t ignore the sense of dread dragging it down, like a thick claggy smoke, how could it have been so easy, surely there had to have been more to it. Perhaps his magic was showing him something to come, or maybe it was simply the weight of lying to his love and brother dragging him behind. He’d tell them, eventually, but he couldn’t risk telling them whilst within the circle’s walls.

_They envy your power, my lovely pets, you must keep it secret, always. Promise Father, you’ll keep it secret._

The words trickled over him in a way he could only describe as ice cold honey, sickly sweet liquid gold, with nothing behind words but frozen disdain. Yes, that described his father perfectly well. With him at least; the disappointing under achiever. Well he’d most likely feel different now, his oldest sister was tranquil, his second oldest sister was dead and he didn’t even know what laid in store for his brother. Was he mage? He wondered, or perhaps his father had killed him in another one of his rituals?

But Jowan’s analysis of his family’s dysfunction was abruptly interrupted by the arrogant tone of the Knight-Commander, as he approached Jowan and his companions at the steps of the basement.

“Shit.” Alim hissed under his breath, backing up until he was between Jowan and the glower of the Templars.

But Jowan was in no mood to hide, he didn’t think about his words as he fired them at the First Enchanter who hid behind false concern, it was all or nothing, there was no going back now. And as the Templars closed in on him and Lily, he pulled his dagger from the belt and slashed down onto his own hand. And when he did, he felt his father’s words tug at his throat once again, chocking his breath, draining the oxygen from his brain until he became unthinking, unleashing a power no one would suspect from a meagre, mild mannered noble boy like him. Power enough to knock back the armoured men and women, the mages and his friend. Until all that stood was him and the woman he loved, who simply stared at him in horror.

“Jowan…” His name tasted like poison on her lips as it slipped out, and doubt seeped. Doubt of every moment they had shared together, doubt of ever whisper and every touch. The only thing she was sure of, was that she did not know the man before him, and the words cut like knives when they reached him; "I don’t know you blood mage.”

But she did, and wanted to believe everything he said afterwards, his promises of freedom, to give it up all for her. But it was too late, and he fled alone. Leaving it all behind.

 


	4. Lost Like Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair before the battle of Ostagar in Denerim (1)

**Lost Like Me**

**Alistair Theirin**

Alistair had always liked Denerim, more than Recliffe anyway. When he had lived in the Arl’s castle, he’d not been allowed to sleep inside, not since Arl Eamon had married, he’d slept with the hounds outside. But when they were in Denerim, there was nowhere outside for him to sleep, and so he had his own bed in the servant quarters. He remembered going to bed on a full stomach from the pastries the kitchen servants had snuck him, listening to them chatter about their duties, make fun of the nobles and gossiping about the latest events of the alienage. And even though he wasn’t one of them, the elves always treated him kinder than any of the nobles that visited from all other Ferelden did, letting him help with their chores, telling him stories and just talking to him, about anything at all. Sometimes it would be about things like giants and dragons, famous warriors- Elvhen and human, other times it would just be about the different places they’d been, their favourite flowers or colours, it didn’t matter to him.

But by far, Alistair’s best memory from his brief adventures within the jewel of Ferelden, was his last trip with Arl Eamon. The Arl had gone out for the day with his brother, Teagan, and in the evening after dinner he handed Alistair a small wooden carving of a golem. Alistair had loved that golem, along with his mother’s amulet, more than anything else he had owned, which wasn’t much of a comparison, considering how little he had. Though the moment he had shared with his temporary guardian was spoiled somewhat, as he remembered that Eamon had sent him away to the chantry not a week later.

And now, in the midst of a blight, he sat in the same tavern he imagined Eamon to have sat in, among his first real family, his brothers in arms, his fellow Grey Wardens. The atmosphere that hung around them now, was a grim anxiety, they all new a battle was coming, all they had to do was wait for their leader to return.

“Finish your pint men, we’ve a few more nobles to visit.” Warden-Constable Thomas, or was it Thompson? Alistair was always so awful with names, the Grand Cleric once told him that it was a good thing he wrote his name in his underwear, else he might forget that too, he would have probably said something sarcastic in reply. However, he didn’t really have a leg to stand on when the only reason he called the elderly women by her respectful title, was that he’d forgotten her name almost immediately after he'd learnt it. And after nine long years of ‘Yes, Grand Cleric.’ And ‘No, Grand Cleric.’ He felt rather awkward about asking.

But he’d always remember Duncan’s, he’d never forget his Warden-Commanders, his friend and hero.

“Feels like a waste of time, we have the King on our side now, thanks to Duncan.” One of the newer recruits groaned, he’d joined around the same time as Alistair had, he didn’t know his name either. Angry-Eye was Alistair’s private nickname for him, inspired by the very angry looking vein that twitched above the man’s right eye, he’d felt guilty about the name after he’d gotten to know him and found he was actually a lovely guy, funny too. The first time they’d drank together, he’d made Alistair laugh so hard that beer came out of his nose, he’d felt less guilty when Angry-Eye started calling him Snuffles thanks to the embarrassing mess he’d made of himself.  “’Sides, thought that was what Ata was for, with her scary horns and all, nobles tend to cough up coin real quick when they think they’ve got a Qunari at their front door.” Angry-Eye snorted as he wiped the remainders of beer foam from his scruffy beard, Alistair was too busy stroking his chin in slight envy, why couldn’t he grow a beard? He’d always struggled with growing hair… in a lot of places, he reckoned he’d look good with a beard, add a scruffy and kind of wise look, then he wouldn’t have to carry around a razor in his pack and pretend to use it in the mornings, to avoid teasing from all the older men around him. Though they’d probably make more fun of _fake_ shaving than not shaving at all…

“Snuffles?” Angry-Eye pulled Alistair out of his thoughts with a chuckle, “I’d pay to find out what’s going on in that head of yours.” He shook his head with a smile, “Ata, whatcha think?”

The Vashoth was easy to remember, not just the only women in the Ferelden Grey Wardens, also the only mage and probably the first ever Qunari. He was honestly scared to ask about her, all the recruits were, a seven-foot-tall mage with horns was nothing to shake a stick at. Not that anybody seemed to have a problem with her, all the senior wardens seemed to get on with her well enough, some even _liked_ her. Well, apart from the Warden-Constable of course, he didn’t seem to trust her in fact Alistair would go so far as to say he hated her. Alistair just tended to avoid her, whenever they had spoken, she'd had a look in her eye very similar to the one Lady Isolde used to give her, like he was a bug she was about to flick off her sleeve.

“She looks like she’s ready to kill everyone all the time, I don’t know, is that normal? I’ve never met a Qunari before. Maybe they’re all like that?” Alistair voiced his monologue to his companions. “She seems loyal though, that’s good for a Warden, isn’t it?”

“I suppose,” Angry-Eye contemplated it for a moment, seemingly chewing over what he’d said, deciding whether he liked it or not, “Still gonna avoid her like the damn plague, don’t wanna accidentally piss her off and end up missing a limb or two.”

One the most senior wardens at their table snorted at the comment.

“Ata’s not so bad, just a bit intense.” He shrugged as he finished his mug, “I wouldn’t go out of my way to ignore my fellow wardens, mind you, never know when you’ll need a brother, or sister, to pull you out of the shit.”

“Perhaps if you didn’t get yourself ‘in the shit’ so often Grigor, you wouldn’t have to rely on a _Vashoth_ to survive basic training drills. Now let’s go.” The Warden-Constable snapped impatiently and the conversation came to an end.

 

* * *

 

 

“Last house, stand up straight; we’re representing not just our own, but the entire Warden order.” The Constable repeated a final time as they stood before the massive estate, nearly the size of Arl Eamon’s, Alistair thought distantly as he started up at the grey stone. It must’ve been a newer building, he pondered, noticing how little ivy there was growing along the clean building.

The Constable only had the chance to knock once before a bucket of icy cold water was dropped onto their heads, followed by the wooden bucket that bounced heavily off the cobblestone and then shattered into countless splinters.

“Bloody Wardens! Piss off!” Spat the words of a young blond elf from the same window, before she slammed it shut with a frame shaking _crash_.

Grigor, who had somehow managed to avoid the splashes of water, didn’t even try to stifle the snigger that slipped past his grin, as Alistair quickly tried to fix his ruined hair rather than try and dry himself off. But his laughter was quickly cut off as another window burst open and second bucket was thrown, the soggy Wardens were quick to jump out of the way, but Grigor wasn’t as lucky this time.

“Damn brat!” Yelled the Constable, as he slammed his fist on the door, "Let us in or we break in.”

“It’s just a child, Sir.” Alistair chuckled as he watched the Constable take his rage out on the front door. But the Constable was having none, and after receiving no answer from the girl, he ordered Angry-Eye and Alistair to knock it down. Which was surprisingly difficult, as it turned out the young elf had barricaded the door with fancy furniture, which was quickly smashed by the door when it was thrown open by the two young men.

“Lady Emmald? Lady Lorian Emmald?” The Constable called out into the house, it was empty, but clearly not abandoned. It was _trashed_. Torn silk, stained floors and ruined furniture lay scattered across the entrance hall.

“Piss off!” Called a furious voice, echoing throughout the mansion, seemingly without a source.

Grigor roared with laughter, clearly finding the girl’s antics amusing.

“Split up and find the girl, Lady Emmald might still be here.”

 

* * *

 

 

It didn’t take long for Alistair to find where the girl hid, it was the same place he used to hide when he felt scared and abandoned in the Chantry; the attic.

He rapped his knuckles gently on the wood of the locked door, there was a pause, and his inquiry was met with a precise arrow piercing through the wood and scrapping the skin of his cheek.

“Piss _off!_ I told you to go! Why can’t you just leave me _alone_!” Came a shaky bark.

“I promise we won’t hurt you, can you just let me in? And please _don’t_ shoot me with an arrow, you might not miss next time.” Alistair reached out, taking a step away from the door, in case she had another booby trap planned for him.

“Didn’t miss! If I wanted to hit you – I would’ve!”

“I believe you, if your bucket throwing skills are anything to go by, you must be a marksman.” He let out a nervous chuckle, then the door opened and the girl stood before him, mud and grime stained her clothes and tangled into her chopped blonde hair. She was older than he thought, fifteen, maybe sixteen years old, she was only a head shorter than him – unusual height for an Elvhen girl - though she’d clearly had a growth spurt recently. Judging by how poorly her patched and re-patched clothes fitted her tiny build.

“That _was_ pretty funny, your boss looked _well_ pissed.” She let out a snort as she held the door open for him, apparently his compliments had earned him entrance into her den. He smiled a thanks as he waded into the busy hideout, and she closed the door behind him, lowering the wooden barricade back into place. “I’m Sera.” She offered him a dirty hand as she spoke.

“I’m Alistair. Now, if you don’t mind me asking, what are you doing here? I don’t suppose you’re the lady of the house?” He queried as he shook her hand, noticing the dried blood under her nails from biting them so low.

She snorted again, “No, me, a lady?” Once Alistair let go of her hand she was on the move, pacing around her trashed room, poking and rearranging random junk as she moved. “Lady’s dead, died a few months ago, been here since. I was her kid- not really- cause y’know, _elf_. But she looked after me, left me everything too. So if you want money, suppose I’m the one you should nick from.”

“You’ve been on your own this whole time?” Alistair asked, unsurprised by how nonchalant she seemed to be, pretending not care was the first step to not caring at all, he hadn’t reached step two yet, he hoped it'd be someday soon.

“Well, _yeah_. But I’m fine, got a house and money, don’t need much else.” She scoffed as she dropped an expensive looking bauble she’d been fondling to the ground, apparently finding something better to inspect.

“No friends, family? I know what it’s like to be on your own, it can be hard sometimes, not having someone to trust.”

Sera paused a moment, apparently fixated on picking an invisible speck of dirt from her finger nail, Alistair watched as scratched and scratched until a spot of blood purged out, with a frustrated ‘tsk’ she sucked the drop from her finger, and seemed to suddenly remember some important business behind a bookcase. Only a few moments after her disappearance did Alistair hear the crash of a stack of books and a string of curses that made his ever so slightly pointed ears blush. When he rushed to find what had happened to his gracious host, he found her nursing a swelling ankle; twisted into a painful sprain.

“It’ll take me a while to patch that up for you, do you mind?”

 

* * *

 

 

"No way! All over the floor? What she do?" Sera let out another snort laughter, leaning forward on the very edge of the up-turned crate she sat on, "What happened next?"

"I was banished to pot cleaning duty for more weeks than I could count, and that's a lot, I can- I can count quite high." Alistair replied with a sheepish grin, if his time in the Chantry was good for one thing, it was a funny story to break the ice. "And oh how the Grand Cleric _screeched,_ I think only the poor hounds could understand what she was saying."

Sera let out another laugh that was some strange blend of a snort and a giggle, "Wicked! Always wanted to see one of those mothers lose it, see what they're _really_ like under all that 'spread the word of the maker' tosh."

"Well, be grateful you only have to hear about it, and not face their wrath first hand." Alistair chuckled, finally tying the knot in the cloth bandages tied neatly around Sera's bony ankle. "Alright, how's that feel?"

Sera gave it a few hesitant twists and turns, letting out a short hiss when she moved it too far, "Still hurts, but better, thanks." She paused a moment, "You're not so bad."

"Aww, you mean it?" Alistair ruffled the girls already scruffy hair, before re-packing his salves and bandages and standing ready to go, until he watched Sera's face fall completely with a murmured:

"You leaving?"

Alistair paused, he couldn't stay, he had work to do and the other Warden's would be nearly done searching the rest of the estate by now. He needed to leave, but even so he couldn't; the idea of leaving her on her own made his heart sink. She was so alone and scared and _angry._ Angry at her guardian for leaving her, anger at everyone who's treated her like, well, _an elf_. Anger at the whole world for having no idea what to do, where she can go.

For Alistair, the answer was the wardens, but she was far too young, and would more than likely laugh in his face at the mere _idea_ of it.

"I have to, I'm sorry. There's something coming- a blight, I have to fight it; I'm a warden." As Alistair spoke the words, he saw how little they mattered to her, she'd made her mind up about the wardens, and she was quickly making her mind up about him. "But- Wait a minute." He then dropped to his knees in a flash as he began rummaging through his pack; blindly shoving his hand in and feeling around for what he wanted and... Viola! "Here you go." He held out the golem carving to her with a triumphant grin.

She hesitated before gingerly taking it from the palm of his hand, "What is it?"

"A golem, a gift I got from my... my version of Lady Emmald, he gave it me and told me that whenever I needed to be strong, to be reminded of what I need to do, to look at this little carving and remind myself, to be like the golem. A golem has a purpose, and even when it gets difficult, the golem always does what they need to do, they're always strong." As Alistair spoke, he felt his face glow warm with a sheepish flush, and he quickly averted his gaze from the little carving to the ground "I mean, it's stupid bu-"

"I love it. She's the best ever thing I've ever seen." Alistair peeked up to see Sera staring over the golem in amazement, tracing each line and memorising each imperfection with awe. "You're...giving her to me?"

"If you promise to look after her."

Sera replied with an enthusiastic nod, Alistair even saw the hint of a grin.


	5. Smolders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atakan searches for recruits in Highever (2)

**Smolders**

**Atakan**

The horses clomped their hooves along the frosted mud, exhausted from the lode they had carried for three long weeks, said lode was a pair of equally exhausted Grey Wardens. One an aged Commander, who’d been in the Wardens for more years than he cared to count. And the time showed, in the scars that littered his body, and the dark circles that sagged from his eyes, eyes that had seen far too much for just one life time.

The second was a newer recruit, and although she had been a warden for only a few brief years, she appeared to carry the same weight, in the hunch in her shoulders and vacant gaze that she took when left to her thoughts. The look of someone who’d lost much, and gained little.  And long with them trotted a mabari mutt, with patchy fur and a long tail that she waggled with pure joy, seemingly oblivious to the exhaustion of her companions as she loyally followed wherever her mistress travelled.

“Are you sure this is wise, Duncan? I don’t think me going to nobleman’s castle on my own is the best course of action.” Ata questioned as they neared the ancient tower, peering just above the trees. “Perhaps you should have sent Alistair, rather than leave him in Denerim.”

“It is not my first choice, but we are running out of time, splitting up is our best chance of recruiting enough new wardens in time. And Alistair is… not exactly suited to recruiting.” The weary Commander replied, they’d been on the road for weeks now, but they’d only managed to gain one new warden, though the elf was capable, she was only one person and it was beginning to look like she might not even live to see her joining. Duncan just hoped the healers at Ostagar could keep her alive until then. And that the circle was willing to spare another mage for the battle, if powerful enough, one experienced Enchanter was as good as fifty seasoned warriors. “I’ve sent word ahead, Teryn Cousland is expecting you.”

“Let’s just hope he realises it’s me before the villagers have their pitchforks sharpened.” She half-joked as she pulled off _another_ stray twig that had somehow tangled itself in her horns, being Vashoth was useful in circumstances that involved fighting, scaring and intimidating. Not so much when trying to convince a nobleman to hand over his youngest son to be recruited into an order that will most likely get him killed. It was still, however, far better than being an apostate Vashoth walking into a circle of magi.

“Teryn Cousland is loyal to Fereldan, he will respect King Cailan’s wishes to support the Wardens, if you cannot recruit the son, he will be willing to offer one of his knights, I am certain.” Duncan reassured her as they neared the crossroads where they would part.

“If recruits are needed so badly, why did you say no to the Dalish mage? Surely she would have been of help.” Ata questioned, keeping her tone as light as she could.

“She would not have survived the joining.” Duncan spoke gravely, “I’ve been doing this a very long time, and I’ve learnt from my mistakes.” They reached the crossroads as his sentence came to an end, and without another word, he turned to the tower, and she to the to the north, to Highever.

 

* * *

 

 

_Shit._

_Shit shit shit._

_SHIT._

The words stuttered through Ata’s brain as she pulled her spear from her back, nearly diving from her horse to the ground, her boots splashing up the trickling blood that flowed through the cobblestone. She quickly knocked a running solider to his knees, before driving the blade of the spear through his neck, it took her a moment before she recognised the heraldry on his shield.

“Arl Howe.” Ata snarled, one of Teryn Couslands most trusted allies, she could hardly be surprised, she knew how quickly men were willing to betray for what they wanted. No, not surprising, just tragic. She searched the crowds of people fleeing the castle, watching the faces of those running for their lives, most of them were servants, elves and the poor. After years of servitude and this is what they got, being hunted by soldiers, hired by those too afraid to fight their own battles.

Ata caught sight of the men chasing them, they stopped at the gates and began lining up shots with their crossbows. Before they could even load their first bolt, she sent a ball of raging fire their way, a wry smile crawling across her lips as she listened to their screams- they didn’t last long.

“Mutt!” She called her hound to her side, then bloodied her finger with the splatters on the ground, and dragged a smudge along the beast’s forehead and down her snout. “Keep the people safe, I’ll be back” Then with a burst of blood and smoke, a Varghest burst from the hound’s body, and launched itself at the soldiers.

Ata dived forward to the castle, spear at the ready, she was a whirlwind of precise attacks and fire, slashing down anyone who stood in her way. When she finally reached the main doors to the castle, they’d already been knocked into shatters by the traitors, and what was left of the defending guards lay dead in the grand hall of castle Cousland.

Seeing all the dead that littered the ground, she knew Teryn Cousland’s armies had already left, the traitor’s soldiers wouldn’t have stood a chance otherwise. She locked gazes with one of the men, their eyes had turned a pale milky colour; any signs of life were already gone, just an empty bag of flesh and dried blood now. It wasn’t until more soldiers stormed the hall, that she was able to pull her stare away, she needed to find the Teryn.

But she wasn’t fast enough, when she finally reached the pantry where the Teryn and his wife had fled, all that remained was a pair of lifeless bodies, an empty quiver and a broken bow.

Ata, with a grimace of disdain, spat on one of the bodies of Howe’s men before leaving, this time through the escape tunnel the old couple had failed to reach in time. She hadn’t seen any sign of the Teryn’s sons, but she couldn’t stay to check, she couldn’t take out the entire army, not on her own.

The screaming and cries for aid had faltered by the time she’d emerged from the tunnel; in the distance she saw the castle. The fires within it were dimming, and all that remained was the billowing smoke that grasped to the night sky.

 

* * *

 

 

Ata didn’t want to leave Highever, she felt her stomach twinge and tug as she trudged along the muddy road East to Denerim. All those people she left behind, there wasn’t anything she could have done for them, she had to remind herself of that. They didn’t need a warrior or warden anymore, the damage was done and Howe had won. They needed to heal now, and Ata couldn't help them, she wasn’t built for fixing or healing, she could fight in a battle. But she didn’t know how to console a morning mother, or tell an orphaned child that things could get better, that wasn’t her. No, she had her place, and that was back in Denerim.

The trip took far longer than it should have, her horse had been stolen by one of the many people fleeing Highever, not that she minded, they’d need it far more than she did. She managed to ride with a few suspicious looking caravans, they called themselves merchants, but going by how often they tried to recruit her into mercenary work for them, she was fairly certain they were Carta. Not that she was at risk, not many people are willing to risk aggravating a Vashoth with a large pointy stick and a war hound.

It was dusk when she finally reached the city gates, and it was a good thing she wore Warden armour; Ata didn’t think they’d let her in otherwise.

Alistair was the one to greet her at the gates.

“You’re here!” The younger man exclaimed, as though he hadn’t been waiting for her, “Uh- I mean.” He cleared his throat with a skittish cough. “You took a while we thought… Um never mind, doesn’t matter. We’re going to Ostagar at first light tomorrow, Duncan asked me to tell you that the new recruit will go through the ritual once we’re there.”

“From the circle?” Ata walked past him as she asked, expecting him to follow, they headed towards the Palace District, where the Wardens had been invited to stay by the King.

“Yes, uh Akatan.” Alistair scrambled awkwardly, mispronouncing her name, he seemed nice enough, Ata thought, but she couldn’t get over the little nag in the back of her mind. She felt herself grow impatient over his most innocent of remarks, shoot him glares from the corner of her eye, a smug smile tugging at the corner of her lips whenever she made him squirm uncomfortably. Perhaps it was because she knew he was the son of a king, even though It was clear to her that he was no prince, Alistair hadn’t struggled in life the way she had. She saw it in the way he dozed off in thought, not worrying about his surroundings, feeling safe in city walls. In the way that he left his drinks half-drunk and the fat in his jaw, he’d never gone hungry, never feared for his life.

Not a prince, but certainly a noble.

“Atakan.” She corrected, knowing he’d forget, “Ata will do.”

The guards watched her carefully as they walked through the palace entrance in silence, their hands hovering over the hilt of their swords, she felt them willing her to do something evil, and the disappointment when she simply walked past them. As though the idea of a Vashoth _not_ being violent and murderous was _boring._

“Ata. Alistair.” They both stopped and turned to the sound of their mentor’s call, “It’s good that you have returned, though I see you are alone.”

“I think the King will need to hear this as well.” Ata told the Commander, Duncan’s surprise faded and he nodded sternly her, before gesturing for her to follow.

 

* * *

 

“What we have to remember is that this Blight is going to happen; it will not wait for you to bring Arl Howe to justice, your majesty. We _must_ go to Ostagar.” Commander Duncan sounded almost pleading with the King.

“On this, I agree with Commander Duncan.” Loghain affirmed from the other side of the table, seemingly stationed as far away from the Wardens as he could manage.

“Of course, we first must lead my men to Ostagar, once the Blight is defeated, I will turn my armies around and march on Howe.” King Cailan declared, with a noticeable puff to his chest. Alistair put all his effort into _not_ rolling his eyes at the King’s bravado, and looking around, he wasn’t the only one. Which pulled out a smirk in him, it felt good knowing he wasn’t the only one to think his half-brother was an absolute buffoon. “Speaking of the battle, I hope your Warden here will be on the front lines with us, imagine, a Qunari mage fighting by the side of the Wardens and a King, like something out of legend!” Cailan added, apparently over the fact that they’d not only lost the aid of one of the larger Arling’s armies, but the death of his most loyal Teryn.

Alistair often found it difficult to believe they were related. He’d been told many times that he was somewhat oblivious to his surroundings, on multiple occasions, by several different people. But he refused to believe it was on this level. He’d never met his father, so he didn’t know what he was like, but he was starting to think he may have been similar to his legitimate son. It was possible, you’d have to be somewhat thick-headed to cheat on your wife and have a bastard with a commoner.

Judging from the look on Lohgain’s face; the exhausted yet almost nostalgic look in the Teryn’s eyes as the King gushed to the two senior Wardens, he would probably agree with Alistair’s assessment. Not that Alistair was going to _talk_ to the Commander, especially about Maric.

Once Duncan had assured Cailan that Ata would fight in the Vanguard, and she quickly excused herself, the meeting seemed to come to a close.

“You should get some rest Alistair; it will be a long march to Ostagar.” Duncan urged the young recruit as they left the war room, his tired eyes softening with a found smile. Alistair nodded returning the smile before heading towards the guest quarters, where the Wardens were staying for the night.

 

* * *

 

 

**Morrigan**

Morrigan sat perched on top of the tower, watching the soldiers below her, like insects scuttling along the dirt, preparing for a war. The faint smoke of a burning forge crawled its way up to her, the woody scent ever so slightly burning her nostrils, she fanned the lingering clouds away impatiently. The air was still, even as high up as she was. As though the land itself was holding its breath, anxiously awaiting the upcoming battle, her mother had told her that it would end in tragedy, but that good would also come of it- In Flemmeth’s usual overly cryptic way.

The creak of a door and the metal rattle of armoured men, warned Morrigan of the approaching guards, not wanting to be found, she quickly dropped from the roof of the tower, and with a burst of feathers and purple smoke, a raven appeared, and her world expanded. She was able to see more than any normal person could, experience freedom like no other could. Almost without thoughts she headed north, she didn’t know why she still went to the tiny village, it was her own sort of rebellion from her mother. Despite all relation she had to Lothering being long gone, she still found herself wondering there from time to time. And considering the current circumstance, it may be her last chance to watch the farmers and traders going about their lives, ignorant of the dangers that lurked just beyond the forest.

Morrigan didn’t make it far before she felt the familiar tug in her bones, a calling home. For a moment she resisted it, imagining what it would be like to just keep flying, past Lothering, over the Waking Sea and further. But the pull was persistent and she relented, turning South back to the Wilds, back to her home.

Flemmeth stood above the cooking pot, dumping a plate of unprepared mushrooms into the concoction she stirred.

“Feeling rebellious today?” She asked with a smirk, as though the idea of Morrigan defying her was unthinkable, an inside joke between herself and whatever demon lurked within her mind.

“What is it, Mother?” Morrigan gave with a frustrated huff, leaning on the frame of the door, not prepared to fully enter the hut yet, holding onto the breeze that drifted through the musty house.

“We’re going to have visitors soon; I’ll need you to greet them, so don’t leave the wilds until they’re gone.” Flemmeth ordered over her shoulder then, apparently satisfied with the taste of the broth, gave a wave of her hand to puff out the flames that burned below it.

“And if I refuse?” Morrigan tested with the cock of her brow, too which Flemmeth gave what must have been a belly aching laugh, before pulling the door of the small hut closed, blocking out the breeze.


	6. Rock and A Hard Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The backstory of Natia Brosca of Orzammar (1)

**Rock and A Hard Place**

**Natia Brosca**

Many would look at the life of a carta thug and make any number of presumptions, dangerous, poor, morally corrupt, uncertain, exciting, etcetera etcetera. They’re wrong of course, well mostly wrong. At least fifty per cent wrong, well, they’re wrong enough not to be right. There was danger, true. Maybe it wasn’t the most morally sound career path that was available for most dwarfs, but Natia Brosca was not as fortunate as most dwarfs. She wore the brand, a tattoo across her face that told anyone in Orzammar that she was casteless.

The decedent of a criminal, supposedly, and therefore deemed unworthy of a life with the rest of the Dwarven people. Forcing her to live in the slums, and resort to all sorts of unthinkable acts just to keep her and her family off the streets. And ironically enough, that means her, along with countless other casteless, become criminals. Hence the success of the carta; they had almost an unlimited amount of men and women with nothing to lose, to kill, intimidate and die on command. Sucks for the casteless, great for the carta.

Life with the carta wasn’t poor either; at least it wasn’t as poor as the rest who lived in the slums. Natia and her sister Rica both brought in enough to feed them, cloth them, keep Natia’s weapons sharp and their mother good and drunk all day. No, they weren’t exactly receiving invites to the diamond quarter for ale, but at least they went to bed on a full stomach each night. Which is more than they would  have as street sweepers or beggars, there was always the option to move to the surface. But Natia, like most casteless, had no idea what laid beyond those massive stone doors, besides never ending ceiling and more air than their lungs could ever breathe.

Natia wasn’t a quiet girl, she wasn’t polite and she was no push over. But she was smart, so she knew when she should speak up and when she should shut up. Which is why she didn’t stab Beraht in the kidneys when he started calling her sister a whore, she also didn’t scoop out his eyeballs with his own severed fingers and feed them to him when he threatened her. Instead she stood with crossed arms and imagined how he’d look with his head on a pike.

“Quit glaring like that, you’ll burn a hole in the stone.” Rica teased, waving a hand in front of her sister’s glare that was now targeted at the door Beraht had closed behind him. “Don’t worry about it, if this goes right we won’t have to live like this.”

“I should join the wardens; I could send you money back.” Natia spoke simply, breaking her stare away from the door to Rica’s concerned frown.

“Money’s not the problem and you know it, we could be the richest in the whole of Orzammar and we’d still be casteless.” Rica explained once again with a tired smile, “It’s okay, I’ll take care of us.”

Natia just sighed before she kissed her sister goodbye and left. She didn’t bother with her mother as she walked out the front door; they didn’t have much to say each other at that point, and whenever they did speak it would end in yelling, cursing and empty bottles flying. No, Natia decided to skip the excitement that morning, and grabbed her daggers before meeting Leske outside.

Natia and Leske had a relationship typical of dwarfs in the carta, they called each other their best friend, covered each others backs in a fight and got drunk together every once in a while, but neither would hesitate to throw the other to a pack of deepstalkers if they thought it would buy them just a couple seconds. That didn’t mean they couldn’t laugh at each others jokes whilst dealing with Beraht’s ‘clients’.

The first appointment was with Oskias, a surfacer who’d been holding out on lyrium nuggets, she doesn’t have to say much. She never has to say much. He hands over the nuggets and lets the fool run, after seeing the hope in his eyes and hearing the petrified relief in his voice, it almost made Natia feel guilty for chasing him down into a deserted ally and pushing him into a fountain of lava. His screams were brief but loud, the guards took notice and investigated, but Natia and Leske were already selling half the lyrium to a merchant friend of Leske.

An overall uneventful and successful transaction.

They only made an extra couple silvers on the side, usually it wasn’t worth sneaking around Beraht for so little reward, but she was feeling particularly bitter that morning. Her mood did lighten up slightly however, when she saw the look of disappointment on Beraht’s face when they handed him a lonely little lyrium nugget. But her smug satisfaction didn’t last long.

“Strange that my men in the tavern said they watched you let him go, either they’re wrong, or you’re lying.” Jarvia, Beraht’s right hand sneered at the two.

“Who are you again?” Natia asked, giving a disinterested glance to the women she’d known for years now, everyone knew Jarvia, and so nothing pissed Jarvia off more than when someone didn’t.

“What she means,” Leske interrupted before Jarvia could draw her weapon and repaint the store’s walls, whilst its owner cowered in the corner.  “We let him _think_ we let him go, got him alone and pushed him into one of those fiery fountains, his bones might not have melted yet if you wanna check.”

“And that’s why I like you guys.” Beraht gave a toothless grin at the image, Natia wanted to remove the rest of his teeth with rusty pliers, she reckoned she could get a good price for them. “There’s a proving today, can’t remember why and I don’t care. What I _do_ care about is the noble I’ve bet on, big money, not an amount I want to risk.”

“So how are we fixing it?” Natia asked, not caring enough to listen to his whole plan.

“Here’s a drug, make sure Mainar, one of the fighters, has it before the fight. Then you’re done and you can have the day off, I’m sick of looking at you.” Beraht spoke curtly, apparently done with compliments and back to usual impatient self.  Natia and Leske didn’t bother saying anything as they made their way to the proving, only agreeing to get good and drunk once they were done.

And she would need that drink, because before she realised what was happening, she was stood in the middle of the proving arena kitted in armour and weapons worth more than everything she owned combined, and a crowd of nobles cheering her on.

The thing that surprised her most about the proving was how _easy_ it was. Natia blocked each of their sloppy attacks as if they were in slow motion; their fancy shields bending under the force of her attacks, she was more worried about accidentally killing them rather than losing. She shouldn’t be surprised really; all the real warriors were out defending Orzammar, not showing off their expensive armour and weak form for nobles to fawn over.

Natia was in her element, never before had she heard people cheer for her, though they called out the name of the noble she was impersonating and not her own. It still caused a rush of pride to swell her chest; she raised her arms in triumph after each finishing blow, embracing the roar of the crowds, before preparing herself for the next nug humper to enter the ring.

The final was Mainar, she focused herself this time; this was why she was here. She’d told Leske not to give him the drug, determined to prove herself to the ancestors, to the stone, the nobles, her mother and the stupid carta.

To prove herself just as worthy as any caste member, and when Mainar fell to his knees, she let out a cry with the crowd. A grin spreading across her face underneath her helm, but her victory was short lived, when the noble whose glory she stole stumbled into the arena, and in drunken slurs revealed her to be a fraud.

 

* * *

 

“Do you ever feel like you’ve lost control of your life?” Natia asked Leske, who now sat in the cell neighbouring her own, both stripped to their smalls with matching black eyes, courtesy of Jarvia when she’d smuggled them out of the Orzammar prisons to Beraht’s own personal jail.

“Natia, you’re a sodding pain in my arse.”

Though he didn’t complain much when she provided a pair of splinters and picked the locks of both their cages. Natia was grateful that Jarvia and her crew were gone for the evening, two bruised and tired dusters wouldn’t stand much of a chance against her small army of carta thugs. But oh was she glad that Beraht was still there, with only two lackeys at his side, laughing with his toothless smile and his greasy beard. She’d never forget the rush she got form when her blade tore into his soft skull and through his brains, his blood dripping onto the stone floor, a look of shock staring back at her as he fell dead to the floor.

Her day hadn’t gone so badly after all.

 

* * *

 

 

Natia decided not to stick around long enough for the noble castes to execute her, because, as fun as that sounded, she had other plans. She recognised the prison that Beraht had thrown she and Leske in after the proving, she also knew it was used for smuggling Lyrium out to the surface, it was just a matter of finding the right door. Which would have been simple, had there not been _so many fucking doors_. But Natia was nothing if not persistent, and after fourteen wrong turns and about thirty-three now dead Carta, she began to feel the ground beneath her feet slope steeper and steeper upwards. The air become thinner and carried the chill of the night sky with it, the breeze felt harsh and unfamiliar on the dwarf’s pale skin, her hands shaking as they reached the final door to the outside world.

“Ancestors hairy arse! No wonder the noble castes don’t like the surface; it’s _freezing_ up here!” Leske bellowed into the open air, his voice echoing off the mountains surrounding them and back, he was right. It was _freezing_ , Natia wished she had more than just basic, cheap nug leather armour covering her goose pimpled skin. And what in the stone was all the white stuff covering the ground? Natia placed one hesitant step with her boot onto the cold, crunchy substance, her eyes widening in horror as her foot sunk deeper into it. “Be careful Natia! You’ve no idea what the stuff is made of!” Leske cautioned her as she took another step from underneath their cave and out into the open, she was relieved to find that the tightly packed white powder didn’t swallow her up. Natia then bravely began to stroll further into the outside, but stopped when she realised that her companion did not follow, she turned around, hands resting confidently on her hips and a grin on her face.

“Well? You following?” She prodded, feeling giddy from the cold thin air around them, breathing it in in deep huffs; taking in the whole new range of scents that surrounded them, and loving each one. Leske shook his head in disbelief but couldn’t stop her contagious grin from spreading.

“You’re mad!” He yelled back to her, before following in her footsteps and braving this mad new world they’d discovered together, it was better than the alternative, at any rate.

They were fortunate that a traveling caravan was happening just by their entrance, they were Lyrium smugglers, who were expecting a meeting with Beraht. It probably wasn’t wise of Natia to explain what had happened, but the Ancestors were apparently on her side that day, as the caravan was more impressed then anything and offered them both a position in the carta on the surface.  

“We’re heading to Ostagar first.” The leader explained, “We have an operation set up there, we’ll make the deal and get out of there before the Wardens start their battle.”

At least that was the plan, which made Natia’s stomach tie itself into knots, she hadn’t had much luck with plans recently.

 

* * *

 

“Natia… no.” Leske spoke slowly, staring in horror at his friend as she stood beside a somewhat baffled Warden-Commander, only two weeks on the surface and she was already trying to drag him into a death sentence.

“Why not?” Natia asked with genuine confusion in the creases of her wrinkled brow, “There’s good money in being a warden, right?” She turned to the tall bearded man beside her to confirm, who opened his mouth to answer, but was quickly cut off as she turned back to Leske. “C’mon, I’ll make it fun.”

“Fun? We just ran _away_ from the deep roads and darkspawn, and you want to go _back?_ ” Leske questioned, not believing his ears, even after ten years of working with the mad woman, she still managed to take him by surprise.

“We just ran away from the dwarves and the carta, and _you_ want to go back?” Natia mimicked his tone as she retorted, with a smug look on her face that never seemed to go away. Leske just sighed, a defeated chuckle pushing past his lips.

“I should have expected this,” He sighed with a wry smile, “You do what you gotta do Natia, but I’m not gonna join the wardens; been in the carta my whole life, it’s what I know, what I’m good at.”

“Well, just who am I gonna get pissed out of my mind with after a good fight with _now_?” She teased and Leske laughed good naturedly, “Gonna miss you Leske, it’s been good.”

“This aint goodbye, I give you a month before you find me and drag me into another mess.” He joked, then they said goodbye. Then Leske headed north with the carta, to Kirkwall he told her- wherever that was- and that once she’d scared the darkspawn back to their hovels that she was welcome to join them, she told them she’d think about it, but she was lying. Though Natia wished she didn’t have to say goodbye to Leske, the last piece of familiarity left in her life, she was determined to never go back the carta. She was good at her work with them, and sometimes she’d even _enjoyed_ it, but at the end of the day she was only with them because she had no other choice. But now she had a choice, and she chose the wardens, and once the battle was over, she’d write to her sister Rica, let her know she was okay and that she would never have to sell herself to a noble again. Natia could provide for her now, even if it meant she could never return home, that she wouldn’t be able to see Rica again… Yes, this was for the best.

“So, where do you want me big man?” Natia snapped out of her internal monologue and addressed her new commander with a playful grin.


	7. Here We Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Battle of Ostagar (2)

**Here We Fall**

**Ata**

For the first time since she’d landed in Ferelden, Ata felt at home. The air was buzzing with the anxiety of soldiers before battle, the sound of metal grinding against whetstones, the clatter of hammers melding hot iron into shape, Ostagar was preparing for battle and she was in her element.

Ata had decided it best to practice her magic outside of the camp, separate from the other mages and the Templars that accompanied them. She was only a short distance away, but far enough that none of the Templars could sense any magic, the last thing she needed was some fool attempting to strike her down only hours before the battle. Duncan had predicted that the Darkspawn would reach them by midnight, but she only had an hour or two for any last minute training, then the new recruits would go through their joining.

To say she was apprehensive about it would be an understatement.

For her, the joining had been a lengthy process, she’d spent two days crippled in pain, unable to move and barely able to eat or drink. Duncan had been close to putting her out of her misery by the second day, she’d been told, but she eventually recovered. Even though her joining was unpleasant, after seeing how others went through it, she realised she was incredibly lucky. The ones who joined with Alistair had been particularity bad, the first had died instantly, falling unconscious as soon as the chalice touched his lips, and he died in his sleep. The other hadn’t been so fortunate, he’d died at the ritual, but it was a lot slower, his body had desperately tried to force the blood from him, until then Ata had thought the phrase ‘coughing up a lung’ was simply a metaphor. Alistair, however, had been even luckier than her it had seemed; he simply fainted and awoke a few hours later, practically unchanged. Although he was more affected by the taint than her, he’d mentioned the nightmares more than once, they also seemed to hit him harder than the others, though she wasn’t sure if that was because he was newly initiated or not. 

Ata wouldn’t know, she hadn’t changed like the others, she wasn’t hungrier or stronger, and she hadn’t had a single nightmare. A healer had used magic on her long ago to block dreams from her sleeping mind, a blessing to stop the nightmares that had once plagued her restless sleep.

Ata hardly needed to practice for the battle, fighting was the one thing she was always certain of, but she needed to clear her head. She was thinking too much, about the ritual, and about the new recruits. She hadn’t even _begun_ to worry about the battle that would take place _that night_. Not to mention she would be in the vanguard, which was obviously for the best, she’d never learned to fight long distance unlike most mages, so her being at the front made perfect sense. What _didn’t_ make sense was having the fool of a king fighting by her side. She had enough to worry about protecting herself, now she had to worry about a _monarch_ on top of that. And there was always the possibility that they would fail; what if they lost the battle? _What if the blight heads north? What if no Wardens stop it in time and the entirety of Ferelden is swallowed up by the Blight? What if-_

Then she felt it.

A snap in the air like a lightning bolt, cracking to the ground; leaving a hum in the air that stirred static in her ears and the taste of copper in her teeth. It was magic, that was obvious, but it was the type of magic that drew her to the darkened tree lines. The more magic she’d felt and used, the more she understood how different they were, and the effects they left in the air. Like the feeling of a spring morning dew that came with healing magic, crisp and clear, like a new day. Or the way spirit magic felt like rain at midnight, with a full moon casting long shadows in a forest clearing, mysterious yet peaceful.

This magic was… the freedom of running with no destination, it was the energy of discovering something new for the first time, it was the excitement of a first kiss. This magic was the very act of being alive and living, a magic Ata new well, it was the magic of shapeshifting.

She felt it again as her boot pressed into the earth of the forest, and her heart nearly leapt to her throat as she caught a glimpse of raven feathers dart deeper into the trees. Without a thought she burst forward into a red feathered hawk and followed. It had been so long since her last flight, and it showed in the way she scratched past the tree branches, and how unsteady her wings were as they carried her, but nothing would stop her now.

Then, suddenly, the raven dove down below the tree tops, without hesitation Ata followed. And, with a burst of red and a spark of purple, the two women stood opposite one another once again.

The witch simply tugged her lips into a smug smile, as though she knew exactly why Ata was there, and what she was thinking, her steps slow and careful as she meandered closer to her.

“Well, well, what have we here? Such a strange creature you are, wondering into these darkspawn filled wilds of mine; using magic so few have the courage to explore, following me with such _determination_. And now watching me with such familiarity.” There was pause as Morrigan took another step closer, still a distance away, just out of reach. “I did not expect you to return, Ata.”

Ata hadn’t realised she’d stopped breathing until she heard her speak her name, her breathe finally escaping with sigh, followed by a light chuckle.

“Neither did I, I also wasn’t expecting to see you still here.” Ata admitted, gesturing to the trees that surrounded them. Morrigan glanced around the scene, her eyes caught by the sun as it glared just above the tree tops, seemingly setting the forest ablaze as it lay to rest beyond the horizon.

“Where else would you picture me?” She queried, her eyes meeting Ata’s again, searching them for answers for all the questions that spiraled through her mind.

“Well... you never know, last time we met was quite a few days north of here.” Ata spoke with an easy smile, “I’m starting to think that you’re following me you know.”

“I was just going to say the same of you, you’re the one who keeps returning to the wilds, and who just chased me through the forest.” Morrigan teased back, her arms folding across her chest. “Tell me, what earth shatteringly important, top secret business are you up to this time?” 

Ata chuckled lightly, “Not so secret this time, I’m a Warden now you see.” She pointed to the crest attached to her arm, “Bad time to join though, apparently there’s this blight thing they expect us to fight.”

“Yes, the battle.” Morrigan turned back to the West to see the last glimpse of the day’s sun as it settled for the night, she remembered her mother’s warning that it would end in tragedy. Morrigan turned back to Ata, wishing to warn to the strange woman that kept returning to her wilds. But then Ata spoke them for her.

“Stay safe, I wish to speak to you again once the battle is over.” Ata spoke swiftly, before taking off again and heading back to Ostagar. Morrigan watched her as she left feeling a smile tug at the corners of her lips again as the words played over in her mind again. _Stay safe_. She rolled her eyes at the fool, Ata was in far more danger than she was, she didn’t know why that thought made her stomach twist so much.

* * *

 

 

“We won’t be in the battle? But Duncan-“ Alistair began his plea but was quickly cut off.

“Enough. King Cailan requested that it be you who lights the tower, we are in no position to argue. Besides, Alim cannot do it alone and we need another Warden with him, as his senior it is your duty to guide him.” Duncan spoke impatiently, his stress revealed in the curtness of his tone. Ata watched the pair of newer Wardens, Alistair finally conceded to his Commanders decision with a defeated huff, whilst Alim seemed to give a sigh of relief. Ata wasn’t surprised; no circle mage barely out of their apprenticeship was battle-ready, no matter how brave they were. The other new recruits, Natia and Lyna, would be joining them in the battle. Natia would be placed to the side of the vanguard, ready to flank the enemy with the other rogues, the feisty dwarf had seemed to calm down some since she’d woken up, but Ata still had her doubts. Not that there was much anyone could do about it, if she decided to flee, then so be it. She would have to face the consequences later. Lyna had recovered well, surprisingly so, the taint in her blood adjusted well to the joining and she was more than willing to join the rest of the archers. She had been eager to join them in the vanguard, but Duncan thought it best if she was at a distance for now, she may have recovered well, but she had been on her deathbed only a few hours before. They couldn’t afford the risk.

Once Alistair and Alim said their goodbyes, they headed towards the tower of Ishal, ready to light the beacon at Ata’s signal.

“You’re nervous.” Ata said once they were alone, not a question but a statement. He walked in silence to the battlefield for a few moments

“The King trusts this will go well.” Duncan finally replied, saying nothing more as they trudged through the wet mud to where the King stood ready and waiting with his guards.

“But you don’t trust the King.” Ata added on.

“Will you be able to fight? She seemed to break a bone or two when she bit you.” Duncan asked, changing the subject. Ata glanced down to her splintered finger, not that it was needed, one of the bonuses to having so many circle mages about; they’d healed it almost completely.

“It’s fine.” She answered, but Duncan had already picked up his pace, so he was within ear shot of the King and his body guards, bringing the conversation to an end.

Ata decided to hang back from the main party heading to the battle, not having the patience to listen to the King gush about his plans for celebration. Instead she walked with the rest of the wardens, with her hound strolling loyally by her side.

“Are you ready?” The Warden-Constable spoke, catching Ata by surprise; he usually didn’t speak to her unless he was barking an order.

“Yes.” She replied, not sure what else she could say to the older man.

“When the battle goes south, you need to run.” Ata nearly stopped dead in her tracks at his completely unexpected suggestion, but instead she scowled at him from the corner of her eye, instantly suspicious of his encouragement.

“I am not a deserter.” She spoke bluntly, turning her gaze forward to the battleground before them, they were nearly at the front now, surrounded by men and women ready for the fight ahead of them. She felt the Constable grab her arm to stop her; she quickly shook it off as she turned to face him, Mutt jumped with her, ready to turn on their superior. But when she met his gaze, she wasn’t expecting to see such desperation in his eyes.

“You think I am trying to sabotage you, but I assure you I am not.” He gestured for Ata to follow as he wondered further from the body of people surrounding them, and any listening ears. “You have seen the size of our armies, and you must have felt the size of the hoard approaching us, even if you haven’t seen the nightmares. There is a good chance we will _lose_ this battle. I have understood Duncan’s obedience to the King up to a point, but we can’t afford to let us all be lost because of Cailan’s foolishness. Do you understand?”

“You have no faith in the King?” Ata tested.

“I do not.” He said taking Ata aback with his honesty, his words tugged at the doubt in her mind that had been stewing there for some time. But could she really abandon them? She felt no comradery with the Wardens, nor loyalty to the King or his soldiers, but idea of fleeing turned her stomach into sickly knots. But she couldn’t ignore the truth, if the battle was lost the only Wardens left would be Alistair and the circle mage, and that idea terrified her even more. “Do what you must, I have spoken my peace, and you know what is at stake.” The Constable spoke again, interrupting the silence before walking away again, after a moment’s pause, her hound nipped at her hand gently.

“You’re so impatient, Mutt.” Ata gave the hound a wry smile and a loving pat on the head, and then she followed the others to her place.

The air seemed to crackle with anticipation, the veil pressing thin against the weight of the spirits as they gathered to the scene, drawn by the fears and anxieties of the warriors stood in formation, waiting. Priests paced through the valley, bringing with them the soft call of the Maker’s prayer and the scent of incense to cover the stench of the oil coating the arrows, ready to be lit and launched in to the abyss that lay before them. Once the Revered Mothers and their Sisters had vacated, there was a shift in the wind, and the first lights of burning torches appeared over the horizon.

It was time.

Duncan was the first to catch the bloody scent of the approaching darkspawn, his nose curled upwards as the wind carried he smell of corruption with it.

“Ready yourselves.” He did not raise his voice, but it felt as though the entire army heard him. King Cailan nodded and gave the order for trebuchets to be fired and moments later the mabari were released, Ata reached down and cupped Mutt’s head protectively, grateful to have her nearby. She felt the lives of the poor loyal beasts slip away as she watched them die, the darkspawn simply cast them aside as they launched towards the awaiting Wardens. The archers fired next, a myriad of burning arrows rained down upon them, but more only came, a seemingly never ending wave of the monsters washed over the hill, and down towards them.

Quickly, Ata drew her dagger from her waist and slipped it across the palm of her hand, reopening the wound left by Natia’s bite. She let the wound bleed for a moment, allowing the blood to drip down her wrist, and then she hovered her bloodied hand above her hound’s head.

“Are you ready, Mutt?” Ata asked her, letting her prepare before she placed her hand on the hound’s head once more, letting her magic coax power from the life in the dog’s blood. Mutt then dived forward into a massive Gurn, pausing only to let Ata mount her before launching into a charge, horn first, into the oncoming darkspawn.

**Alim**

“Blast! Are you alright Alim?” Alistair called as he cut down the last of the Genlocks surrounding them, his nose curling up in disgust at the putrid stench that lingered even once they fell to the ground; he then knelt down to help the fallen elf up off the stone floor of the tower. “That was my fault… I should have kept them off of you; I’m not used to fighting with mages…”

Alim grasped his staff from the blood splattered ground as Alistair helped him stand, but he faltered once more when he put weight on his left leg, he barely managed to keep himself from falling back over.

“Shit. _Ow_.” Alim grimaced at the tear in his robes, revealing a deep wound on his outer thigh, _oh Maker that’s a lot of blood… **my blood.** _ His head suddenly felt a lot lighter as whatever was left of breakfast began to clamber its way back up.

“Can’t you heal it?” Alistair asked anxiously, holding his sword ready for any more drarkspawn lurking in the seemingly endless tower.

“Not all mages are healers.” Alim snapped impatiently, he then bent down on one knee to tear the bottom seam of his robes to create a make shift bandage, that he then wrapped tight around his thigh just above the wound, slowing the bleeding down. “Let’s move quickly” He spoke before climbing back to his feet, leaning heavily on his staff, a look of determination in his eyes- but the strain was clear in the way his mouth grimaced in pain. Alistair gave an affirmative nod before heading off again, making sure to keep a distance between Alim and any of the blighted things that came their way.

Alim hoped the warriors were impressed by how well he was managing to fight with the gaping wound in his leg, because he sure as the void was. It must have been the adrenaline of the battle; he could barely feel the pain of his wound as he fought past the darkspawn, either that or his make shift tourniquet was so tight he was about to lose his leg. But Maker, he didn’t care.

There was something about seeing ten maybe even twenty Hurlocks all fall, from one blast of ice or fire, all because of him. Who _knew_ magic could be so powerful? Alim had never felt such a rush, his muscles felt stronger, his mind ran faster, his fire burnt hotter… No wander the Chantry was so afraid of mages; imagine if apprentices knew the forces they held within themselves. In that moment, Alim wished the Knight-Enchanter could see him, Alim wanted to see his face as he watched him burn down dozens of darkspawn without a thought.

Alim was ready for anything, he wanted the Archdemon to appear before him, just so he could strike it down with fiery breath. Could he do that? Breath fire? He felt like he could.

But he supposed an ogre would do, since that’s all the blight seemed to have available for them in that shaky ancient tower. Alim let out a chortle at the sight of the hideous thing before letting flames burst from his finger tips and into its black eyes, naturally it charged at the tiny elf, horns first, and his barriers weren’t enough to protect him, fortunately enough, the shield of a Warden was. Alistair had quickly dived in front of the injured mage in time to absorb the crushing blow the giant darkspawn dealt, knocking both the Grey Wardens to the ground. With no time to waste checking for wounds, they both clambered to their feet and launched their counter attack against the blundering ogre.

Once it lay dead, Alistair tugged his blade from its skull and wiped away the black blood with a rag, sheathing it once again.

“Quickly light the fire; we’ve surely missed the signal.” He sent the stern command Alim’s way, the bloodied elf snapped back to action, suddenly feeling the ache in his muscles and tiredness in his bones from the battle. He stumbled over to the kindling and just managed to spark a pitiful flame from his fingers, luckily there was enough oil to fuel the fire into a roaring blaze, with enough mass to be seen from miles around. Alim gave an exhausted sigh, ready to collapse to the floor when he heard the scream of one of the other warriors from the tower, as he was impaled by a Genlock sword.

Alim was just in time to pop a barrier around Alistair, before he watched an arrow fly and then imbed itself into his own chest, he heard Alistair call out before he fell, his head cracking against the cold stone.

**Lyna**

Each twang of an arrow let loose, was accompanied by the gurgle or screech of one of the creatures. The rattle of metal armoured bodies hitting the ground. And when she ran out of arrows, it was the clash of a dagger against their jagged blades. The wet tear as her blades sliced and carved. Lyna advanced forward without thinking, submerging herself in the monsters, their blood splattered across her face, she tasted it on her tongue, felt it sting her eyes. But she didn’t flinch or cower. She had to stop them all. Each and every last one of them had to die. They had to.

Lyna didn’t bat an eye as the last of the archers fell, with a cry and squelch a Hurlock Alpha crushed the man’s skull beneath his boot. Merrill wouldn’t recognise the mad grin that pulled against her face then, as she launched herself at the creature, her blades moving fast and wild without thought, the beast laughed as it blocked each attack with its shield. It knocked her onto her back with the crash and stalked forwards to cut her down.

“You won’t have me too, monster!” Lyna didn’t recognise the voice that tore through her. She leaped to the side and to her feat, the monster’s slow attack lodging its blade into the bloodied earth where she’d been. Before it could recover itself, she slipped her dagger precisely under its helmet, and through its neck. Listening to it choke on its own blood as It fell. “That was for Tamlen!” She cursed hoarsely, spitting blood onto its corpse.

But it wasn’t enough, she was surrounded by the blighted things, she held her blades ready, she wasn’t dying without taking a few of the bastards with her. However, it seemed fate had something else in mind, she barely had time to cover her face as she saw the smoke bomb launch over her. The black gas burst from its glass shell and pooled around her feet, rising quickly around her, she didn’t hesitate before launching herself at the creatures once again, this time feeling a friendly presence by her side, fighting with her. She imagined it was Tamlen, she knew it wasn’t – she wasn’t that insane yet- but It was nice for just a moment, to pretend that he was fighting by her side once more. Lyna didn’t know why she was so disappointed, once the fighting was over, to not see him emerge from the smoke.

“Did you see that?!” The bloodied dwarf called up to the elf, an elated grin smeared from cheek to cheek, “We were _awesome_.” Natia held her hand up in the air, seemingly weighting for a response from Lyna. “Dalish don’t do high fives I guess?” She asked with a nervous chuckle as she lowered her hand sheepishly again. Lyna glanced to the redheaded woman standing by the dwarf’s side, a question in her gaze. “Oh! This is Aveline, she took down _four_ of those things with one swing!”

Lyna didn’t have time to respond before Ata was slicing her way through darkspawn to get to them, soaked in blood and riding a creature neither of them had ever seen before.

**Ata**

Ata didn’t have time to think or plan anything strategic as she launched herself from one enemy to the next, the rush of blood on her skin giving her a burst of magical energy, fueling her next attack. Each death she felt around her lighting a fire in her belly that no amount of horde blood could quench, the flames roared from her core and through her veins, charging her up for each sickening blow. Whilst Mutt guarded her flanks, launching herself at enemies and tearing them too pieces with her horn and teeth, leaving shredded messes each time a new enemy tried to harm her master.

But it wasn’t enough, as the horde descended upon them; they were forced to move back with the rest of the front line. It was time to light the signal. Grasping her spear tight, she channeled her magic through its core then aimed it at the sky to let the red spark burst into the air, signalling those in the tower to light the fires.

There was a moment’s pause, and no flame.

She sent the signal again. Nothing.

“What are those fools _doing._ ” She growled, Ata considered sending a fireball to light the tower from where she stood, would it reach? It was so far away, she wouldn’t be able to aim; it would have to be a powerful shot, meaning there wouldn’t be much of a chance of survival if anyone was alive at the top of the tower. But her thoughts were interrupted when she heard the warning cries of her allies.

The ogre tossed the Wardens aside as if they were nothing, barrelling through them to get its target, with a focus on the king that Ata had never before seen in a darkspawn. It grasped Cailan in its massive fist and turned back to the horde, but it didn't crush or throw him, it was almost as though it was taking him. Commander Duncan was quick to act, diving onto the beasts arm and sinking his blades dip into its muscle, the creature roared and clenched its fist in response, squeezing an anguished cry of pain from the King who fell limp in its palm. Duncan was relentless with his attacks, like a force of nature he tore the ogre to the ground, falling with it. Ata rushed over to the King, pushing a barrier to surround them both as she checked his wounds, but she didn’t need to be close to see the way his spine twisted out of shape. He was going to die, there was nothing she could to stop that, all she could do was make sure it was quick, and painless as possible. She took the elaborate blade from his loosened grip and held it against his chest, the tip seeking into a crack in his chest plate. Ata met his gaze before, he was so afraid, so desperate and young.

“You’ve done your best; allow us to finish it for you.” Ata spoke the words, before putting King Cailn Theirin to rest and rescuing him from his agony. Once she felt his life slip quietly away, the barrier tightened back around her like a second skin. As she withdrew the King’s blade from Cailan’s now still body, his blood spilled down its length and to the hilt, pouring over the runes and into the stone that sat in its centre, which then burst into a red ball of flames, knocking Ata onto her back as she dropped the sword.

“What in the Gods…” She gasped, but she had no time to ponder; she snapped out of her thoughts just in time to roll away from the swinging battle axe aimed straight for her head. But before she had time to counter-attack, Duncan launched forward and took down the Hurlock for her. “Thanks.” She spoke when he turned to her.

“You need to go! You need to find Alistair, keep him safe!” Duncan ordered before turning to the next enemy, he pointed to the tower, now burning and signalling for Loghain to attack. “No aid is coming; the battle is lost. Alistair must survive, the Wardens must survive.”

Ata stared up at the roaring flames at the tip of the crumbling tower, then back to the corpse before her, her gaze meeting his lifeless brown eyes, no aid may have been coming, but she wasn’t going to let so many die in vain. Without thought she broke forward and picked up Cailan’s fiery blade and tore it across her own skin, spilling red from her arm and fueling the blazing sword. Her body hummed with the powers of the blood surrounding her.

“Failure is not an option.” She reminded herself and took her stance before the charging Spawn, and then held her hands before her, flowing her will through her body, her blood and onto the creatures before them. “Stop!” A voice she barely recognised as her own cried out, with a weight and strength that shook the earth beneath her feet. Hesitantly, she opened her eyes to see if her barriers had forced the beasts back. But instead, to her surprise and horror, a small straggle of Genlocks and Hurlocks stood before her, anxious and watching, waiting for her next command. Ata stared at the creatures, then back at her hand, this was not what she'd planned. Had they _listened to her?_

There was only one way to find out.

“Fight for me?” She tried to order next, but it came out as more of a question, she couldn't believe her eyes as she watched them turn on their own kind.

But it wasn’t enough. Even with the amount of power she’d summoned, she’d only managed to control a select few, no more than a dozen, and she was drained. Ata looked over to Duncan, and the horror she saw on his face was something she’d only seen once before.

“Duncan…” She began.

“Go. Alistair is what matters.” He silenced.

Ata didn’t argue this time; she’d done what she could and it still wasn’t enough. Once again she was left with no choice but run, damning all those she left behind.

She called Mutt back to her side, and quickly mounted her Gurn form, using Cailan’s strange sword to cut down the enemies blocking their path. She needed to get to the tower; she just hoped Alistair and Alim were smart enough to stay like they’d been told. 

Ata was surprised to find Lyna and Natia still alive, she’d expected them to have both died or run away as soon as it’d turned south, but instead she’d found them fighting alongside a fierce redheaded warrior.

“What the hell is that!” Natia yelled, pointing at the Gurn shaped Mutt she dismounted.

“Your ride out of here!” Ata called back, “You need to get out of here, the battle is lost; Lohgain has fled the field. Mutt will take you to Lothering.”

“What of the King?” The warrior demanded, her pale freckled skin splattered with blood, her eyes desperate.

“He’s dead.” Ata spoke bluntly, “You should go as well, we need to warn the nearby town of what’s happened.”

Then Mutt was carrying the two recruits on her back away from the battle as fast as she could, and the warrior was pulling her fellow soldiers away, giving as many of the men and woman there a chance to flee.

 

* * *

 

 

By the time Ata had reached the tower, the horde’s archers and trebuchets had cut down the mages and ballistas that had lined the bridge leading to where she hoped Alistair was. An eerie silence had fallen upon the ruins around the camps, all that remained were dying flames and dead bodies littering the ground. Humans, elves, mages and Dwarves, the blight didn’t care. It struck down whoever and whatever stood in its way, destroying all and any signs of life it could taint.

Ata was taken out of her thoughts by the sound of massive sweeping wings above her, she glanced up to the night’s sky, and her eyes widened with fear.

“No…” She gasped, it couldn’t be the Archdemon, not so soon… But there could be no other explanation for the High Dragon she saw above her, soaring through the smoke in the air and headed straight to her destination.

She gave chase.

Using the last of her strength to burst forward into the shape of a Hawk, Ata darted ahead in the hopes of reaching the tower before the monster. But of course the tower was taken over by darkspawn, more mistakes caused by too much faith in the king and his men; they couldn’t even seal off a damned basement properly.

_Be alive you fool._

But it didn’t matter if he was alive or not, because the dragon reached the tower before her, and as she stumbled a landing onto the tower, it stood before her, with Alistair in one of its front talons and Alim in the other.

Ata gaped in a stunned silence for a moment, her weapon drawn as though to fight the Archdemon alone, she would if she had to, whether she would win was another story. The creature met her gaze, its golden eyes burrowing into hers, almost as though it was issuing a challenge, knowing its victory was inevitable. But before Ata could take a step closer, it launched into the air again, carrying the young men with it, leaving her behind. She barely had enough energy to get back down the tower and to the stables, where a single horse remained, she mounted it and followed after the beast that headed deep into the Korcari Wilds.


	8. Asha'belannar

**Asha'belannar**

 

Like a lone flickering candle, the sun rose over the horizon, setting the thickly entangled tree tops aflame with light as dawn slowly awoke the world. A thin fog crawled its way over the sleeping swamp, rising higher as the sunlight pierced through the foliage to melt it away, stirring the birds nestling in their branches who embraced the new day with their songs.

Alistair had never seen land as wild as this, tree roots crawling and crushing the large stone ruins around them, he imagined what the towers must have once looked like before nature claimed them. A great fortress with walls as high and wide as the eye could see, an impenetrable defence against the wildings and creatures in the land beyond, until the blight came and tore it all down. Now the land had come full circle, awaiting the next creatures that may come and try and claim it, only to be torn back down by the natural order.

Was that the fate of everything? Perhaps what happened to the Wardens was inevitable, they were defeated once before, then returned to fight again, only to be betrayed by those they had tried to protect again. An endless cycle, and to what end? He wondered. Alistair didn’t much care to find out, Duncan was dead. Duncan was all he had, after everything. He was Alistair’s family, along with the rest, he cursed himself for not being able to remember a single damn name. After all they’d been through; Alistair was the only one left who had known them and he couldn’t even name the men who had died. What a pathetic, stupid _fool_ he was. No wonder Duncan hadn’t let him fight, he’d have probably only made things worse, _somehow_ he’d manage. Because that’s what he did, he ruined and wrecked and bumbled his way into breaking things.

“Alistair?” He turned to the sound of his name being called, Alim. Not the last Warden, he wasn’t alone, somehow he’d managed to not get the newer recruit killed. The only one to survive besides himself.

“You- you’re alive.” Alistair let out with a croaky sigh of relief.

“Yes, thanks to our saviour here.” Alim turned to his side and gestured to the wizened woman, the witch, Morrigan’s Mother. She’d stood there behind Alistair for a while now, watching him watch the wilds.

“This can’t be real, if it wasn’t for Morrigan’s mother, we’d be dead as well as all the other Wardens.” Alistair said back to Alim, struggling to pull the words from his chest, _dead as well as all the others._ Why did he get to survive and not him? Why not Duncan, or the Constable, or Angry-Eye, what was his name? _What was his name?_

“Do not speak of me as if I am not here, lad.” The woman snapped back at him, as if manors were what mattered most at that moment, how could she be so oddly calm about this, did she not fear the blight? “And you need not worry about being the last of your kind, some survived even without my help. In fact, one of them should be here any moment now.”

As the words fell from the witch’s lips, a blur of hooves and horns burst through the trees, as Ata dove from her stead and stood between the woman and the newer Wardens. Her spear drawn and aimed at the older woman’s throat, her face bloodied and fierce, her eyes lost to exhaustion.

“You are late.” The witch, calm as ever, spoke to the battered warrior, her gaze cold and steady, with a bemused smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“Horses are slower than wings.” Ata replied breathlessly, had she been riding all night? Judging by the horse that then laid by a nearby pond, lapping greedily at the cool waters, the answer was yes. “Who are you?”

“I am the one who saved your fellow Wardens, Grey one. As for my name, the Chasind folk call me Flemmeth, I suppose it will do.” Flemeth replied, nonchalantly peering over the taller woman’s spear.

“You’re… Flemeth?” Alim scoffed a half laugh at the idea, she couldn’t possibly be, Flemeth was simply a children’s story, one to scare young boys and girls away from the forest and wilder lands.

“If you truly are Flemeth, you must be very old and powerful.” Alim continued his voice almost a warning as he spoke more to the woman brandishing a spear at the seemingly ancient and powerful witch, than Flemeth herself.

“Age and power are both relative.” She spoke first to Alim, and then turned back to Ata. “But compared to you? Yes, very, on both counts. So I would lower that weapon if I were you. Besides, I am no threat to you, Warden. I do not hold these men hostage.”

Ata finally turned her gaze away from Flemeth and to the Wardens behind her.

“Is this true?” She asked.

“Yes, she saved us, in fact.” Alim assured her, nervously watching the spear still ready to attack, despite his assurance, the suspicion in her glare seemed to only intensify.

“Why? Why go through the effort to save them?” Ata demanded.

Morrigan felt a great knot of worry untangle at the site of Ata standing before her, a stark contrast against the wilds surrounding her, her bloodied silverite armour alien to the once peaceful swamp. Ata’s eyes met her own as soon as Morrigan spoke, they hadn’t changed; just as lost as the first time they’d met, only now they seemed tired. Though the ache in her eyes was hidden behind the fierce glare she directed back to Flemeth, looking down over her spear pointed to the witch’s wrinkled neck.

Morrigan had spent the night watching and waiting from the wilds, fearing for Ata’s life as she faced off against a never-ending swarm of darkspawn, but now it seemed her worry was misplaced. Ata had survived the battle, only to throw herself before Morrigan’s mother, aggravating a seemingly immortal and limitlessly powerful story of legend.

_Of course she was._

“The stew is bubbling, Mother dear, shall we have three guests for the eve, or none?” Morrigan’s spoke, and all though she addressed Flemeth, that is not where her gaze drifted, a familiar smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Though the smile was quickly smacked away when her mother next spoke.

“They are leaving, and _you_ will be joining them.” The ancient woman announced, her crinkled mouth forming a smug smile, finding amusement in the reactions of those around her.

“Such a shame- What?!”

She spoke again before Morrigan could splutter out her objections.

“You have been itching to get out of the wilds for years, now is your chance. They need you, without you they will surely fail, which is why you must go.” She turned back to Ata, who had been watching the younger of the two witches since she’d exited her hut. “Do you understand Warden? I give to you that which I value above all else in this world. I do this because you _must_ succeed.”

Ata gave a confused glance back to Flemmeth, still trying to figure out who this mad woman was, and how on earth Morrigan was her daughter

“She’d be safe with us, however, I’m not sure that’s my decision to make. If Morrigan doesn’t want to come with us…”

“Not to look a gift horse in the mouth,” Alistair began, not believing that such an agreement was even being considered. “Won’t this cause more problems? She is an _apostate_ after all, they’re illegal beyond the wilds.”

Alim sighed at Alistair’s questioning, growing frustrated by the conflict, everyone around him seemed more focused on arguing than getting out of the Maker-damned, darkspawn filled, cursed wilds.

“Allow me to get my things, if you _please_.” Morrigan spoke, and even though her tone was dripping with sarcasm, Alim was grateful that she shared his desire to get moving. She then disappeared back into the hut, she returned only a few moments later, somehow adding _more_ feathers and belts to an already very Chasind-apostate looking outfit. “I am at your disposal, Grey Wardens, I suggest Lothering as out next destination, tis not far and I suppose you will need to re-supply.”

“You’re certain you wish to join us?” Ata questioned cautiously, her spear now firmly tucked away behind her back.

“Do you really have time for such questions, I do not believe the darkspawn are known for waiting for everyone to be certain before attacking.” Morrigan brushed away the concern before turning to her mother, there was a quick not entirely heart-warming goodbye before the group began their travel north.

“Until we meet again, Grey one.” Flemeth spoke to Ata’s back as she moved further away from the woman of many years, and to Lothering hopeful by the time they reach it, she’d have a plan for what to do next.

 

* * *

 

Ata barely stopped to rest until they were safely out of the wilds, she had practically ran out of the thick woods with Alim, Alistair, Morrigan and the poor horse from Ostagar trailing behind. Once they emerged from the forest that bordered the wild lands from civilisation, she signalled for the others to stop, which was the first thing any of them had said to each other.

Alistair hadn’t been able to pull himself from his spiralling thoughts, going over and over in his head what he could have done differently, what he should have done. Maybe if he’d been faster, stronger, smarter maybe he could have saved Duncan, saved anyone. But he didn’t, he was too stupid, too much of a bumbling idiot. He couldn’t even remember their _fucking_ names.

Alim was tired, tired of everything going to shit. He wasn’t meant for this, his whole body ached, from the fighting endless amounts of darkspawn, and the walking, why do Grey Wardens do so much walking? His feet were sore and his armour chafed against his fair skin, his ears and cheeks were itching and peeling, red and burnt from the sun he was constantly forced to be under. At least in the tower you didn’t get blisters, the worst you’d get would be a paper cut, perhaps the occasional splinter. Well, if you could avoid the Templars and stay under their radar, a paper cut was the worst you’d get. He corrected himself, as he suddenly remembered how he’d gotten out of the circle in the first place.

Morrigan caught herself glancing at Ata, she was almost the exact same as when they last met, and just as suspicious of strangers. Morrigan had to hold back her smirk, when thinking of how she’d nearly _attacked_ Flemmeth. She couldn’t deny that she’d thought of doing such a thing many times in the past, but Ata was the first she’d met to actually try, well, the first to attempt and live to tell the tale.

“We’ll rest for a moment, but we need to get to Lothering by nightfall, we can sleep and plan what to do next then.” Ata explained, wiping the sweat from her brow, it was days like these that she was grateful she didn’t wear heavy armour, unlike Alistair who seemed to be boiling in his metal suit. “Here.” She nudged him from his deep thought with her skin of water, he jumped at the contact, before mumbling a thanks and taking large gulps of the warm drink. He passed it back to her empty.

“Thirsty?” She teased lightly with a cocked brow, feeling much more at ease now they were far from Flemeth and her hut. Alistair felt his cheeks flush.

“Sorry.” He couldn’t bring himself to speak more than that, he took the skin back from her and moved away to the stream nearby to refill.

“Let Alim have it when you’re done.” She called after him, “Poor boy looks like a dried tomato.” Alistair didn’t have the energy to ask her what in Thedas a dried tomato was, he simply followed her orders, and handed it over to the sweaty red mage.

“Maker.” Alim gasped once he’d drained the skin, pouring most of it over his head, Alistair half expected steam to come off of him once he was done. “How do you all do this? So much walking; so much sun.”

“You should have seen me when I first left the chantry, my blister had blisters. Templar training doesn’t really prepare you for much else besides sitting down and making mages uncomfortable.” Alistair made an attempt at reassuring the tired elf.

“The chantry’s Templars and mages truly are a force to be reckoned with.” Morrigan spoke for the first time, her voice sticky with sarcasm, a taunting smile tugging at her lips.

“No, of course, it would be much better if we were all abominations who communed with demons in swamps, right?” Alistair snapped back at the witch, more than willing to bite at the bate she’d left him.

“I can guarantee that your mage has communed with more demons than I, tis what a harrowing entails, or am I mistaken?” Morrigan challenged him, relishing in the shock on his face at her knowledge of the circle.

“Let’s not do this.” Aya interrupted before Alistair could reply, much to Alim’s relief, though his peace was quickly dashed away as she spoke again, “We need to get moving.”

Alim let out a groan as he stood up, but kept pace with the others, acting as a barricade between the Witch of the Wilds and the former-not-quite Templar, having no desire to listen to those two bicker the whole way to Lothering.

 

* * *

 

 

Natia was suddenly very grateful not have gotten her Warden armour yet. She and Lyna sat quietly in their corner of the tavern, listening to the frightened locals exchanging rumours of what happened in Ostagar. The Vashoth’s strange mount had turned back into a hound once they’d reached the boarders of the small town, it now snored loudly by the crackling fire, its legs kicking as it dreamed of chasing nugs.

The rumours circling around them varied drastically as they were spread amongst the frightened farmers and traders, but a common trend seemed to appear with each retelling. The Grey Wardens had betrayed the king, and there was now a very tempting bounty on the heads of any of the surviving traitors. If the bounty wasn’t for her, Natia would have likely taken it herself; a reward from a King regent wasn’t something to turn your nose up at.

“How long do you think we should wait for her?” Natia whispered to her silent companion.

Lyna lifted her gaze from her tankard of warm ale once she realised the question was directed at her.

“Sorry, what?” She asked the nervous dwarf, who rolled her eyes impatiently.

“Come on, now is not the time to be spacing out!” She hissed, her eyes full of tired desperation and anxiety, they seemed to soften though when she saw Lyna’s face. “Are you okay? You seemed pretty intense during the battle, and now you look kinda shitty.”

Lyna stared blankly at Natia for a moment before letting out a snort of laughter.

“You’re not looking so great yourself.” She giggled, Natia couldn’t help but laugh with her.

“No, I suppose we both look kinda shitty, but I think we’ve earnt the right.” Natia admitted, then finished her drink, “We should split up and scout the area, see if we can find anyone else who survived.”

Lyna offered her own untouched tankard to Natia, who graciously accepted, and then proceeded to down it in one. They then left the tavern, Mutt followed the elf as she headed to the refugee tents, whilst Natia wondered on her own to the outskirts.

Natia didn’t really have a goal in mind, she just wanted to pass the time, after spending all night waiting for the giant woman to turn up she was desperately bored. She wasn’t exactly about to start socialising with any of the humans, she was more interested in the world they lived in. She’d only been on the surface for a few weeks, and she still couldn’t get used to it, what confused her the most was all the different kinds of weather they had. She’d had no idea the sky could be so fickle, from snow to rain, and now the air was hot and moist, ‘humid’ Lyna had called it. In Orzammar they had two types of ‘weather’ damp and cold or dry and hot; damp and cold in the winter, hot and dry in the summer. But on the surface, there seemed to be an endless myriad of different things hurling itself from the sky. She couldn’t wait until the next thunderstorm, one of the carta that took her to Ostagar had said that lightening would strike down from the clouds.

Natia was so distracted by the lush green trees around the town, that it took her until she was standing next to it, to notice the cage sat just by the entrance gate, and the giant standing inside of it. She meandered over to the man, waiting until she had his attention before smiling up at him, when she was met with only a steely gaze she decided to climb up the cage until she could look at him without tilting her neck.

“Now, how in the stone did they get someone the size of you into this cage?” She asked, looping her legs around a bar to keep her stable, though not exactly comfortable.

“Are all dwarves so strange?” The Qunari asked with a genuine look of confusion mixed in with his frown.

“No, I’m one in a million.” She said with a smile, sweeping her muddy and matted hair over her shoulder, “The name’s Natia, what’s yours?” She greeted, pocking her calloused hand through the bars.

After a moment’s hesitation, he took her hand and shook it firmly.

“I am Sten of the Beresaad, the vanguard of the Qunari peoples.” He replied.

“A pleasure to meet you Sten of the Beresaad,” She grinned, letting his hand go, “That’s quite a mouthful, can I just call you Sten?”

“You mock me, either that or you show me manners I have not come to expect in your lands.” He chose as his answer, eying the dwarf suspiciously.

“That’s the trick, these aren’t my lands.” She explained, gesturing to the world around them, “I’m new to the surface, but I’m pretty sure the Dwarves and humans have a similar system of putting bad people in cages. So, what did you do that made the humans condemn you to the darkspawn?”

“I’ve been convicted of murder, have the villagers not spoken of this?” He explained impatiently.

Natia tilted her head to side, pouting her lips and scrunching up her nose in confusion.

“Murder is a little ambiguous, you’re in the vanguard after all, surely you’ve killed before. Who did you murder?”

“The people of a farm hold. Eight humans, in addition to the children.” Sten informed her, his words full of no more emotion than when he spoke his name, Natia dropped herself from the cage, taking several steps back away. Feeling a knot of nausea build in her stomach.

“Then perhaps you deserve to be taken by the darkspawn.” She practically snarled at him, not believing how nonchalant he’d been about it.

“I agree.” Sten replied, showing the first sign of any remorse she’d managed to spot in him. But remorse wasn’t enough, Natia walked away from the cage, moving quickly back into the town’s fences.

 

* * *

 

 

“Father says elves aren’t very nice, you must not be like other elves.” The little red headed boy called up to Lyna, she was sure he meant it as a compliment, but it just left a bitter twist in her throat.

“Have you ever met another elf before?” She asked him, trying to hide the upset in her tone. She’d always had little patience for humans, but she would make an exception for the boy; the young always seemed wiser than the old and ignorant. The boy pondered on the question for a moment before shaking his head. “Well, I have met lots of elves, and none of them are alike. We’re like humans, but a little shorter, and better with a bow.”

The boy stared up in wonder at her as she spoke, momentarily managing to escape from the harsh world around him, lost in imagining what it would be like to meet more elves. Before Lyna managed to finally usher him away to the chantry.

Lyna’s soft smile quickly faded however, when she heard the squabbling of a greedy merchant and a chantry sister.

“What do you think, hound? Should we teach the greedy human a lesson?” Lyna spoke to the strange beast beside her, who seemed more than willing to assist her as she reached and placed her hand where she kept her hidden daggers. “Well, let’s get moving then.”


	9. Nostalgia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morrigan and Ata reconnect in the Lothering mill they'd once played in as children. (2)

**Nostalgia  
**

**Ata**

Ata scratched out her words with a frustrated sigh, the ink smudging on her fingertips, as she made another attempt, re-writing out her thoughts to the rhythm of the creaking mill she hid away in. The chilly night breeze seeped in through the cracks in the old wooden walls, stirring the thin layer of dust that lay around her, bringing with it the fresh air of the Lothering farms into the musty structure. They’d reached the town in good time, allowing her time to rest and collect her thoughts on what to do next. Having Mutt with her helped of course, the beast snored peacefully by her side, after enjoying slobbering up the cheese and dried meats she’d spoiled her with. Ata kept her hand resting on Mutt’s chest, her steady heartbeat soothing her tired mind, how many days had she gone without sleep? She worked differently than humans, she could go a while without sleep, food and water, but it was still taking its toll. She rested her head back against the creaking mill, listening to the thump of Mutt’s heart, the whistle of the wind against her skin and the grind of the windmill as it twisted around.

The door groaned open in protest, as another tired soul hid inside the little shack, that sat so proudly atop the highest of the rolling hills of Lothering. Ata opened her eyes to find Morrigan standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“I apologise; I did not realise you were sleeping.” She spoke hesitantly, Ata felt a smile tug lazily at her lips.

“Don’t worry about it, wasn’t asleep yet anyway.” Ata sat up and opened her eyes fully, Mutt grunted at the disturbance and waddled away to another corner of the mill, flopping down on her side again. Ata let out a light chuckle, “I think it’s Mutt you’ll have to apologise to.”

“I think I shall simply endure her scorn this time.” Morrigan curled her nose up at the smelly dog.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Ata changed the subject, noticing the jagged shortness of Morrigan’s nails as she leaned against a stack of sacks stuffed with flour.

“I… no.” She seemed surprised at the question, hiding her shortened nails by crossing her arms. “I came to have that talk you wanted to have, ‘tis a better time than any.”

“Right, yes.” Ata began, straitening her back, “The last time we met, I told you that I was from the Anderfels, that I’d _lived_ in Seheron… I would appreciate it if you didn’t tell the other this.”

“You hardly needed to tell me this.” Morrigan dismissed with a wave of her hand. “Tis unlikely I shall have any meaningful discussions with the buffoons you travel with.”

“The buffoons _we_ travel with.” Ata corrected with a smirk, “But I’d thought I’d say something, just in case it ever came up.”

“Well you have my _word_ ,” Morrigan teased, crossing over her heart lazily, “Tell me, why do you not wish for them to know?”

Morrigan searched Ata’s features when she paused, trying to read what she might be thinking, but it had always been difficult. Ata seemed unwilling to continue the conversation, but Morrigan’s curiosity wasn’t going to let either of them rest.

“You were going to go back to Seheron weren’t you?” Morrigan pressed further.

“I was, I’d found information and I was going to report back, but I was attacked, by Carta. Duncan and a few other Wardens helped me out, and then asked me to join, so I did.” Ata explained with a shrug, as though her explanation didn’t lead to even more questions.

“Did you not wish to return to Seheron? The Wardens aren’t permitted to leave, or so Mother has told me.” Morrigan moved quickly on to her next questions, embarrassment reddening her cheeks ever so slightly, as she sheepishly admitted how she knew about the Wardens. Her mother was often her only source of any kind of knowledge of the world that lived beyond the wilds, as much as she resented that fact, she had to rely on it now.

“I did want to go home.” Ata answered.

“What a thorough explanation.” Morrigan teased with a smirk.

“I’d rather not talk about it.” Was all Ata replied, Morrigan sobered at her blunt words, collecting her over eagerness, her tone a reminder that she shouldn’t be trying to get this information in the first place. Ata had her secrets, Morrigan understood. She had her own secrets she needed keeping, for now at least.

“Very well, I shall not pry.” She sighed, letting her gaze wonder the ancient mill, she remembered how they’d spent long days and nights sitting up and talking and playing, sharing and creating stories. It was the first time either of them had had someone to laugh with... That was over a decade ago, how time ticked bye. They were just children then, now they were women, with responsibilities and pasts neither wished to delve into. Her gaze was caught by the scratches in the wall that Ata leaned against, she meandered over to them to investigate. A light smile taunted over her lips as Morrigan traced the carvings in the wall, written in a language she didn't recognise, Ata had written those symbols everywhere. She didn’t know any of the strange language, fortunately however; most of the symbols were matched by pictures. Birds from lands she’d never seen and other strange beasts, mountains and oceans, towers and deserts. And of course there were the drawings of Morrigan and Ata, they were in the forest holding hands as they explored the wilder lands, Morrigan inspected the symbol paired with it. It wasn’t one she was familiar with, and Ata didn't appear to use it anywhere else. She tried to concentrate until her eyes ached. She eventually gave up and turned her attention back to Ata.

“Does it have anything to do with Damon?” Morrigan spoke, trying not to poke too much, but her thirst for knowledge had always been her weakness.

“I’m not sure.”

Morrigan looked up to Ata, but her head was turned away, her face hidden in the shadows the mill cast. Morrigan squirmed at the uncertainty in Ata’s voice, she wanted to ask for more, but instead she waited.

“The things he was capable of doing.... It wouldn’t surprise me if he was involved.” Ata could practically taste the venom on her tongue.

“May I ask what it is? What he might be involved in?”

Ata looked over to the witch, her initial shock clouded by embarrassment, her plans of secrecy quickly falling apart. What was it about Morrigan that made her speak so freely? The eager eyes hungry for information, her questions phrased just right to draw the knowledge from her lips, making her feel like she was being listened to, cared for.

“Nothing that matters right now. The Blight takes priority.” She shut down the conversation, before picking up her unfinished letter and leaving, finding somewhere else to sleep for the night.

Caring was dangerous, caring was selfish.

She didn’t get to care anymore.

 

* * *

 

 

Ata dreaded getting up the next morning, having absolutely no desire to face the world and all its problems that day, but Mutts whines for breakfast managed to drag her from her slumber. She felt vulnerable moving around the village, she’d made them all discard their Warden armour, after hearing of what Lohgain had done. She wished she could say she wasn’t surprised, but she found it difficult to feel anything at all about her situation. Only a few days before she had abandoned her fellow Grey Wardens in battle to die, and her entire order, one she’d sworn her life to, was betrayed and now sentenced to death. Yet she felt neutral to it all. Perhaps she just hadn’t fully registered what had happened yet, or maybe she was just simply tired of being upset all the time. She couldn’t count on one hand the amount of times she’d watched people die and been completely powerless to stop it, now all Ata could feel was exhaustion.

It didn’t matter; she’d likely be dead soon anyway.

“So Lohgain has declared himself King Regent?! That slimy rotten- How could he do this? _Why_ would he do this?!” Alistair felt his chest tighten, his frustration bringing angry hot tears to his eyes. “King Cailan was like a _son_ to him, now Duncan’s dead all of them are _dead_ , what do we do now?” He turned his questioning to Ata, who’s mile long stare seemed concentrated on the distant fields, rather than the very dire situation before them.

“Well dealing with the Blight situation seems to be the most logical step, any ideas on how we do that?” Natia asked to anyone who would answer.

“I say we should face this Lohgain directly, be rid of him. Then we can fight the darkspawn without his interference.” Morrigan spoke with a tone that almost made the idea seem logical.

“What a brilliant idea, quick question though, have you ever lived in the real world? Like, ever?” Alim looked close to pulling out his own hair, the more time he spent outside the circle, the more insane his company seemed to be.

“Why don’t we stop squabbling like children and actually _think_ about this-“ Lyna tried to interject but her soft tone was easy to ignore as the others argued over her.

Ata let out a sigh and silently begged the Gods for patience.

“Okay!” She interrupted, drawing the attention of the group, looking at their faces; she had little hope for success. She felt like a Tamassran watching after a nursery, the eldest of them was Alim, but he couldn’t have been older than twenty-three, only a year younger than her. But the difference felt enormous, especially seeing the fear and uncertainty in their eyes, and after listening to them bicker all morning, they certainly didn’t seem any more mature. “The situation we’re in is shitty, but you’re all going to have to simply buck-up and deal with it. What happened at Ostagar has taken its toll on us all, we lost a lot of good men and women that night, but that’s the price of being a Grey Warden, and we have to prove that we’re worthy of the title. We have to make sure the deaths weren’t in vain. Alistair, do you still have the treaties Duncan asked you to get?”

“Oh, uh yes.” Alistair mumbled as he pulled the ancient documents from his pocket and passed them to her.

“Perfect. Our first point of call will be Orzammar, no one fights darkspawn better than dwarves, and they’re most likely to help us, I doubt many humans will with Lohgain in power, apart from the Chasind tribes.” Ata explained the plan to the others, “But before that, we’ll need supplies and new armour, so Alistair you and Alim will go to the Chantry to check for anything paid on the message board, you’ll also see what information you can find from within. Lyna and Natia, on the way in we spotted some men that looked like they might be highwaymen, I want you to look into them, recruit them if you can, kill them if you can’t.” Accepting their orders, the young lost Warden’s dispersed to fulfil their assigned duties, leaving nothing but a circle staff behind; Alim had decided it best if he didn’t carry it with him around the Templars, even during civil wars and Blights, mages were under scrutiny.

“And what of me, Grey Warden? Am I to be ordered too?” Morrigan teased, “I am at your disposal after all, Great Leader.”

Ata couldn’t tell if the sound she made was a laugh or a sigh, she certainly felt like doing both.

“If you don’t mind, we will likely need healing herbs for poultices, since you’re familiar with alchemy, could you gather some please?” She asked ever so politely, Morrigan was familiar with such a tone, and was not in the least bit inclined to say yes.

“You wish for me to pick _flowers_. You have a very powerful, very clever witch at your disposal and you assign me to pick flowers.” She pushed, most unimpressed by her assignment.

“For poultices.” Ata added unconvincingly.

“For-“ Morrigan began with a huff, but quickly recomposed herself, speaking her next words very carefully. “You either think me very fragile and unable to do anything of use, or you think I am so dull that I can be easily distracted by _flowers_ whilst you go off do something you do not wish the others to know of. So tell me, which is it. And be _very_ careful how you answer.”

Ata let out a defeated laugh.

“I thought you might be too annoyed at my suggestion to notice any ulterior motive.” She confessed with coy smile. “And of all the words I’d used to describe you, dull or fragile would be the last.”  There was a pause as she mulled over her next words carefully.

“I noticed a Vashoth in a cage up at the edge of the village, I thought I’d try and recruit him, which means I’ll need to speak to his guards. Which means things will likely get ugly, I thought it would be for the best if I go alone.” Ata admitted gingerly, trying to phrase it in the best way as to not offend her.

“So ‘tis both then.” Morrigan concluded, crossing her arms with a cock of her brow.

“That’s not-“ Ata huffed as she threw her arms up in surrender, “Would you _like_ to come with me?”

Morrigan pondered over it for moment, then waved aside the offer with a brush of her hand. “No, I’d rather not, you go ahead.” She replied, rather enjoying Ata’s exasperated expression. “I shall go and… _Pick flowers_.”

Not knowing what else to do, Ata walked away from Morrigan and to the cage where the Vashoth sat, with a rather confused frown crunching up her brow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of the re-written chapters, the rest will be all new content! I'm looking forward to it :)


	10. New Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group finish off their business Lothering, and bring a few new friends with them.

**New Friends**

**Atakan**

“Shenadan, brother.” Ata called out to the man in the cage, although he had no horns, she recognised him as one of her own. He must have been in there for weeks, she thought, judging from his dried and peeling lips and shaking hands, it didn’t look as though they’d fed him, or even given him so much as a drink of water. When he caught sight of her, a sneer took hold of his face

“I am no brother to you _, Tal-Vashoth_ ,” He spat, his voice hoarse, and judging from the way he flinched afterwards, the words scratched on their way out.

“Oh, you’re one of those ones.” She rolled her eyes at the Qunari, pulling her skin of water from her hip, and taking a sip to demonstrate that it wasn’t poison, before handing it over to him as she spoke. “I’m not Tal-Vashoth, I’ve never been a part of your Qun and I never will be. I am Vashoth if you must call me anything.”

 The Qunari’s face softened slightly but still held suspicion, and underneath she saw the pity that Qunari seemed to reserve just for Vashoth; she preferred the scowl. In Ata’s experience, Qunari thought that anyone who wasn’t with them was either the enemy or an uneducated fool in need of looking after. But the pity quickly vanished as, to Ata’s surprise; he took the skin and gulped it down in one. Ata had half expected him to throw it back at her face, literally. He thanked her in Qunlat before returning it to her.

“What are doing in this cage?” Ata asked.

“It is no business of yours.” He replied, apparently finished with being polite.

“It is, I am a grey warden, and I need fighters to help me stop this blight, if I get you out of the cage, will you help me?” She pushed, her tone firm and business like.

“You are a grey warden?” He almost sounded impressed. “I have heard they are great warriors, worthy of respect, I suppose not all stories can be true.”

 Ata chuckled, “A funny Qunari, now I really have seen everything. What’s your title?”

“Sten”. He spoke shortly, a smirk nearly pushing through to his chapped lips.

“Well Sten you may call me Ata. Did the Chantry lock you up?” She moved onto her next questions, ready to get moving.

He nodded.

“I guess I’ll go speak to the revered mother then.” Ata said out loud, almost wishing Morrigan had come with her, just so she wouldn't have to deal with the priest on her own. “Don’t go anywhere.” She called behind her as she headed back into the village. She was too far away to hear his mumbled reply, which was likely for the best.

Morrigan clipped the elfroot leaves with her dagger, careful not to cut too low so that it could grow back again, not that it mattered much considering the blight on their heels. When it finally caught up with them, the land would be swallowed up and nothing would be able to grow there again, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to take the whole of the plants, and so she took her time, snipping carefully as she collected the leaves, until her bag was full.

She found herself in the shade of one of the many ancient Tevinter bridges when she was finished, she couldn’t help but stare up at it in awe. Once it had stretched for miles across the land, from the ruins of Ostagar all the way up to the Waking Sea, now it was crumbled and broken, leading nowhere but back into the ground. Her mind wandered and marvelled; imagining what it must have been like in it’s prime, how much history was etched into the stone as people and their cargo marched along it.

“Someone help us!” Came a cry from atop the bridge, Morrigan didn’t hesitate before launching into the sky as a raven and landing between two dwarves and a rabble of darkspawn. “Stand back Sandal, don’t let them touch you!” Cried the older dwarf, standing protectively in front of his son, Morrigan turned back to the creatures that leered before her, there was only four, she could take them on her own.

It took only a moment before the creatures were dead; half frozen and half boiled and sizzled by electricity.

“Mighty timely arrival there, my friend. I’m much obliged.” The dwarf spoke again, the red puff in his cheeks dying down, his voice brimming with relief. Morrigan turned on the man, disbelief twisted in with annoyance, grasping her features.

“Tell me, what kind of fool takes a young child into darkspawn filled lands without first learning how to defend themselves?” She questioned the small man, her tone was sharp and bitter.

“If only we could all explode the ‘spawn with magic.” He laughed off her insult before turning back to his son. “Say thank you to the nice lady, Sandal.”

“Thank you, nice lady.” The boy spoke back, his words were slow and seemed to drag past his tongue. Morrigan didn’t reply before flying back down and towards the village again, deciding not to transform back just yet, instead she glided over the town, watching them. When she used to watch the village, it had always seemed like it was years behind the rest of the world, lazy and quiet, the villagers would mosey on with their days. But now, now they were ahead of the world, the blight was at their heels and they’d been thrown into hectic movement, fighting to get out as fast as they could, before it was too late.

Even the Templars were leaving, it seemed. Hidden behind the Chantry’s garden walls, they loaded supplies into a cart, with horses clomping their shoes against the packed dirt, ready to get going. _Of course_ , Morrigan thought sourly to herself, _The Chantry must protect its own, how valiant._ Not that there was anything she could do, or cared enough to do. But her new traveling companions seemed to notice as well, the failed Templar and the mage, and they looked as though they did care enough to intervene. Morrigan tilted her wings, swooped down and landed on the wall, to watch as the two approached the Templars.

She couldn’t hear what the two idiots were saying, but she was certain it was stupid, and judging by the Templar’s reaction, she was correct. The Templars took steps closer, their hands on the hilts of their blades as they puffed their chests and raised their voices higher.

This was not something she had expected, for them to actually fight each other, but she supposed she should have known, men always seemed to prefer banging their chest than using actual words. Under any other circumstances, she’d find it all rather entertaining, but she needed those Wardens alive, for now at least.

Quickly, before the Templars could draw their blades, Morrigan transformed back, and with a jolt of magic she knocked the cart behind them over, the crates inside knocked loose and hit the two armoured men in the back. Morrigan let out a laugh as the Templars fell forward onto their faces, and much like tortoises they seemed unable to lift themselves off the ground with their heavy armour weighing them down.

“Are you alright, Sirs?” Ata’s steady voice called out to the Templars on the ground, as she made her way quickly over to help them up.

The Templars nearly jumped out of their skin when they looked up to see a Vashoth standing before them, but they promptly recovered and postured themselves the way all Templars seemed to; like disapproving fathers, holding their heads high just to look down their noses, a smirk on their mouths like they know better even if they have no idea what is being said.

“I see you’re packing up for the road, smart idea, considering the oncoming darkspawn. Have you let the villagers know they should be doing the same? I’m sure they be overjoyed to know that you’re offering to help.” Even though Ata’s words seemed kind and she smiled as she spoke, the air between her and the Templars felt still and menacing, much like a coiled snake ready to dive for the jugular as soon as her opponent blinked.

“Telling them would only cause a panic.” One spoke up, whilst the other much younger one nodded along.

“Of course,” Ata agreed her voice so sickly sweet, Morrigan was surprised not to see honey pouring from her lips, “They’d be thrown into hysterics, become hostile, aggressive even. Who’d know what they’d do, without an authority to guide and protect them. To help them evacuate. If only such an authority existed.”

“What business of yours is it, oxwoman?” The first Templar barked back, his hand twitching to his blade once again, Ata’s eyes locked onto his, the look on his face under her glare seemed like it should have come with an audible ‘gulp’.

“Well, subtlety is clearly lost on you _Qalaba_ , so how about I make this very clear; tell the villagers you’re planning an evacuation, and include them in it, or I break the lock on your armoury and let them know what you’re doing. _Does that make sense to you_?” Ata’s last question was slow and emphasised, as if she was speaking to an especially dull child. The older Templar tried to stare her down for a brief moment, but his eyes gave and flickered away, before he gave a stubborn nod of agreement. “Good, now before I go, do you have the key to the Qunari’s cage?”

Another pause, another nod and Ata was off again, with Alistair, Alim and Morrigan in tow.

“That probably wasn’t a good idea.” Alistair peeped up as soon as they were out of ear shot.

“And getting into a pissing match was? What would you have done if Morrigan hadn’t knocked them over?” Ata didn’t even turn around to ask her questions, continuing on her tracks to the tavern. “Did you at least do what I asked before taunting the Chantry?”

“Yes, about three gold in total from the requests on the board.” Alim replied quickly.

“Good, we’ll regroup and pick up some supplies in the tavern, then we’ll be off.”

 

* * *

 

 

The chantry sister opened her mouth to speak, stopping Natia before she could crush the commanders neck with her boot.

“The battle is one, please, show mercy on these fools.” The fair redhead pleaded, but it wasn’t her pretty face that held Natia’s attention, but the blood on the daggers she wielded. Amused by the strange woman, Natia gave a small bow of assent and put her blades away. The soldiers quickly dispersed, grateful that their life was spared and not willing to test their luck anymore. “I apologise for interfering, but I couldn’t just sit by and not help.”

“Don’t worry, saving fair maidens is sort of in the job description for Grey Wardens, at least I think it is.” Natia teased as she shrugged off her apology.

“So you are a Grey Warden? Pleased to meet you, I am Leliana, one of the lay sisters of the Chantry. And I’ll be joining you to fight against the blight.” The sister introduced herself with an assured smile.

"Uh... Come again?" Natia asked with an uncertain laugh.

"The Maker told me to help you, and so I shall. When will we be leaving?" Leliana added, as if what she said made perfect sense, Natia didn't even question her this time, all she could do is stare with shock and a little bit of horror. "Oh sorry! That must of sounded... absolutely insane."

"Glad we're on the same page." Natia peeped out, deciding never to start a conversation with a Chantry sister ever again.

"But it's true, I had a dream, a vision!" Lelian began, but once she saw the way the Grey Warden seemed to be backing away from her, she gave up. "What I mean is, you’re a Grey Warden, what you do- what you're _supposed_ to do- Is the Maker's work, I can't stand by and do nothing. _Please_ let me help." The sister pleaded, widening her blue eyes as she looked own on the dwarf, she must have been in her late twenties, but when she did that she looked as though she were barely out of her teens.

"Fine!" Natia gave up, the sister gave a beaming grin in reply, "Wait- no I can't decide this, you'll have to talk to my leader, she's in charge."

As Natia finished her sentence, Lyna finally came back from the taverns basement with a few sacks of supplies and the barwomen, she didn't have the energy to ask why the Dwarf was covered in blood, or who the armed sister was. She just handed them a sack each and made her way for the door.


	11. The First Night

**The First Time**

**The Grey Warden Camp - North-East of Lotheirng**

 

The first night at camp came after a long day’s march, they'd eventually decided they wouldn't head to Orzammar first, once Lyna had told Ata that the clans were all heading north, Ata made the decision to try and approach them before they'd all fled. The Brecilian forest was also much closer than the Frostbacks, and Ata wanted to start making progress as soon as she could. But now, she was happy to sit still, just for the moment. If there was one good thing about the south, it was its forests, she’d always managed to find her way back to them. Ever since the first time.

She couldn't have been older than thirteen years old, Magister Damon had decided to take a break from the politics of Tevinter to tend to some business he had in Ferelden, Ata was never really sure what it was but, lucky for her, it allowed her more freedom than she'd ever experienced in her life. Ata would have free reign of the massive fields of empty land, a privilege only available to the most loyal and obedient slaves. Ata had been a slave so long, the idea of escape was unthinkable, until she met Morrigan. Then it began to dawn on her just how possible it was.

She had walked alone through the forest, a borderland between civilisation, and the infamous and treacherous Korcari Wilds. In the distance past the tree line she saw the baron estate, where her Master sat arched over ancient tomes, desperate as he searched for the magic that might save him, he'd become more agitated and unpredictable by then. Lashing out at her even more than usual, she was grateful to be allowed to leave his company, even just for a short time. 

But Ata didn’t think about that, she was overwhelmed amongst the mossy trees that towered over her; she'd never seen what the untamed world was like before. She stumbled deeper into the woods anxious to explore this new world before her. As she journeyed she noticed a small raven jumping from branch to branch, watching her with great interest, almost agitated as she ventured deeper into the forest and further from the safety of the human village.

After making her way through the tall grass and low branches for what seemed like hours, she heard the sound of a stream in the distance, excited at her new discovery she dove further into the trees towards the crystal song of fresh water splattering against rock. The musical tones of nature led to an opening, in which the trees parted ever so slightly to let in a gleam of sunshine that danced across the water’s cool surface, revealing the glimmers of a rainbow hidden among the depths of the spring.

Fascinated by this unfamiliar sight, Ata nearly tripped as she tried to get a closer look, her bare feet struggling to find purchase among the wet moss, a worried squawk echoed past the trees as she regained her balance. Unaffected by her near tumble into the deep waters, Ata leant forward to get a closer look into the sapphire blue lagoon, as she got closer she began to notice the movement of life underneath the surface, golden fish dashing and swirling through the water so quick they barely managed to catch the corner of her eye. So caught up in her amazement was she that she didn’t realise how close her face had gotten to the water, until one of the larger livelier fish, leapt out of the depths to greet her. Ata let out a shriek as she lost her balance once again and fell, but she wasn’t alone as crashed into the shallow waters. The curious bird had dived from its watching place in the high branches and with an electric charge of purple smoke, transformed herself into larger, more natural form; that of a young girl no older than Ata. However, she was too late to save either of them and they both fell into the waters together, scaring the tiny rainbow fish away.

Both girls sat in the shallow water, soaked from head to toe, then turned to each other. The raven haired girl stared in shock at the stranger, with copper coloured skin and blazing golden eyes apparently surprised at her own attempt at heroism, the horned girl met her gaze with an equal look of shock. As if staring at this strange wild apostate would somehow explain, as to where in the world she had come from.

After a staring at one another for a mere heartbeat, Ata felt a giggle bubble up her chest and burst past her lips, and she quickly dissolved into the kind laughter that only a little girl could manage, full of pure, unthinking, untainted joy. The forest girl hesitated only a moment before she joined in, and then there they sat, a pair of giggling girls in the woods, soaked in dirty pond water, as the day came to a peaceful end.

Ata smiled at the memory, she caught sight of the tiny faded scar on her right palm and briefly wondered if Morrigan still had hers to match, it was hard to tell with the dark  sleeves of her robes reaching down to wrap around her hands. She had thought about asking her if she did, but she already knew how the conversation would go: "What a foolish question to ask, tis a scar is it not? They do not fade over time, why do you ask such a strange question?" And then Ata would have to come up with a reply that wasn't something along the lines of "Because that moment meant a lot to me and I felt like it bonded us for life, and I'm desperately trying to reconnect with you on the emotional level we did as children, even though I promised myself not to get too involved with anyone, so I could concentrate my efforts on finding the bastards who are hunting my people." She didn't imagine that would be too well received, but the more she thought about it, the more she struggled to find a reason to be so distant. She could still keep her secrets while being friendly, couldn't she? And in the end, it would make things run a lot smoother with all this blight business.

Ata pondered over the situation as she scrubbed the blood from her clothes, she’d gotten quite good at it by now, it helped that she had a better understanding of it than most people. She left the cloth to soak in the ice cold water, and decided to take a moment to stretch out the kinks in her back and try and sooth her muscles from the day's walking.

Ata was small for a Vashoth, taller than most humans, but her tribe had always poked fun at her size. She didn’t mind much, it proved useful at times; she was tall enough to scare humans but her small size meant that Qunari tended to underestimate her- a good balance so far as she was concerned. She wasn’t particularly muscular either, she was strong and fit sure, but even so standing next to the Sten made her feel like a malnourished elf. She made up for it in her speed however, and her magic always helped. Who needs to spend all that extra work on their muscles, when they can have a barrier as strong as iron cover their skin, and shoot fire from their fingertips? Blood magic had its merits as well, she could manipulate her own blood and body to work faster, stronger and more powerful when she needed it to.

She may not have been a walking tank like the Qun’s soldiers, but she was a force to be reckoned with when she needed to be. Not that that was often, she’d always found words to be more powerful than fists or weapons, and if not a quick bit of entropy to knock the threat out while she made her escape would suffice.

Ata let out a deep breath as she sat on the ground, legs stretched forward as she reached to touch her toes, it’d been a while since she’d been able to wind down in peace.

“You’re very flexible.” A voice called up to her, Ata had been so concentrated on what she’d been doing, she hadn’t noticed the Chantry Sister approaching. She looked up to see Leliana smiling pleasantly, holding a large cooking pot in her arms. “Alistair has promised to make us all stew tonight, he seems rather sweet.” Ata gave a small smile back as she lifted herself back off the ground.

“You haven’t tried his stew.” Ata joked, remembering the first and last time the other Wardens had let Alistair cook, if she could even call it that; the joining had been more pleasant.

“Why is it awful?” Leliana asked her eyes wide with worry.

“Oh- I – not exactly, I don’t eat meat, that’s all. I’ve never had his food before.” Ata lied not wanting to plant any bias, Alistair was low enough, she really didn't want to deal with him if everyone swore off his cooking without even trying it, Leliana was a southerner after all, maybe she’d enjoy it.

“You don’t eat meat? Oh! Is that why you’re so small for a Vashothari?” Leliana blurted out, “Oh my goodness, that was so rude of me, I’m so sorry.” She reprimanded herself when she noticed the awkward and confused look on Ata’s face. “You’re probably regretting letting me join you already. What I meant was… oh there really is no polite way to ask it is there?”

Ata stared at the women for a moment, it had been a while since she’d last met someone who was so… talkative. Which was a surprise, considering who she was, the Orlesian accent, the daggers, the soft voice and pretty face…. She was clearly a bard, Ata couldn’t think of a reason for why a bard would become a lay-sister in such a boring little village in Ferelden, but she decided not to pry. She didn’t want attention drawn to her past, why would she not offer the same to the others?

“No, not really.” Ata finally answered, “But I don’t mind. It’s not why I’m ‘small’, most Vashothari don’t eat meat if they can avoid it, the Qunari don’t either, from my understanding.”

“Really? I shall have to ask Sten, though I do not think he will be as willing to answer; he’s so stoic.” Leliana continued, mostly to herself. “Thank you, by the way, for saving him, and for allowing me to join you, and for sparing those men who attacked us.”

Ata felt another confused look cloud her face, the Sister-Bard seemed to take a lot of things personally, was that the signs of a passionate and kind-hearted soul, or a narcissist?

“The men who attacked us? Hardly seemed fair to fight them, they barely had a dagger between the lot of them; they only wanted to feed their families.” Ata shrugged off the praise, it had only been a simple sleeping spell, nothing really worthy of note.

“Still, it is not always easy to do the right thing, but everyone deserves a second chance.” Leliana smiled, she definitely wasn’t talking about the men from the village then, “The others don’t seem to agree with your decision, about the Qunari I mean, especially Natia.”

“She lost her right to vote on decisions when she bit me.” Ata replied more than a little bitterly, she rubbed the mark on her hand, it was definitely going to scar. Leliana’s eyes found the mark in between Ata’a thumb and index, a curious frown knotting her brow, but she shook it away.

“I’m surprised you wanted him to join, I’ve heard many stories of the wars between the Tal-Vashoth and the Qun.” Leliana remarked.

“Beggars can’t be choosers.” Was all Ata gave, “Let me help you with that.” She said, very much wanting the conversation to end. She pointed to the cast iron pot the Sister carried, before she took it from her and quickly filled it in the stream before resting it on her shoulder. The pot was large and heavy, but Ata insisted on doing it on her own, and definitely not because she had something to prove. It was one thing for her tribe to tease her, but for a human? Ata was far from pleased. But afterwards, seeing the way Leliana stroked her arm, and the sweet smile she had as she thanked her, she began to think maybe that was the Sister’s plan.

 

* * *

 

 

Dinner was almost silent, aside from the chewing of the tough rabbit meat Alistair had served along with a stew that wasn’t much more than a few mushed potatoes and various other root vegetables, it was as bland and hearty as anything else in Ferelden. But after hours of walking, the Wardens and their allies were happy to scoff it down, aside from Morrigan who seemed to be preparing her own meal outside her tent. Ata, along with Sten,  had eaten already before Alistair added the meat, and she was on watch whilst the others ate, Mutt was happy to fill in her space and gleefully mopped up her share of rabbit and then some. Once her bowl was empty, she took her seat next to Alistair and rested her head on his lap lovingly, and with wide puppy eyes, slobbered all over his leg until he caved and let her lick his bowl clean. A routine she had perfected since she and Ata had joined the Wardens, each meal she’d sit and beg at Alistair’s side, knowing the young mabari-loving-Ferelden would succumb each time.

“Are all humans so easily manipulated?” Sten asked as he watched Alistair, his permanent frown deepening ever so slightly.

“Saves me having to clean it, besides, look at how _cute_ she is, aren’t you puppy?” Alistair cooed to the full grown war hound, rubbing behind her ears as she slopped up the stew from the wooden bowl.

“Please tell me you’re going to clean the bowl once she’s done.” Alim said, watching in horror as the stinking hound began to clean herself after her meal. “Actually, never mind, I’ll do it.” Alim decided, before getting up to collect the empty dishes, not trusting the others to do it. From what he’d seen of the outsiders so far, he had no confidence in their judgment of what classified as clean, not that he’d been much better; his robes were encrusted in dirt from the dusty roads, and he was in desperate need of a good scrubbing himself.

Once Alim had heated the pot up to a decent temperature, he used it as a make shift tub to scrub the wooden bowls and spoons of their griminess, he dreaded to think how long it had been since they’d last been cleaned.

“Do you need a hand?” Alistair asked, before taking a seat cross-legged on the ground beside him, a rag in hand ready to dry the now pristine utensils.

“Thanks.” Alim said as he handed a bowl to the warrior. Alistair gave a half smile in return as he dried it and then placed it on the ground next to him, they repeated this pattern for a few minutes in quiet, stacking the bowls up precariously. They worked well as a team, Alim decided, _much better than in Ostagar_ , a harsh voice from the back of his mind added. Alim felt a blush heat his cheeks as he remembered how carried away he’d gotten, he’d stopped thinking and had only acted, it was mortifying to think how he’d lost control as he did. Alim didn’t behave that way, he had always thought ahead, always planned his words and his actions carefully. If it hadn’t been for Alistair and Flemeth he would have died. How could he have been so careless? “I’m sorry.” Alim mumbled so quickly that Alistair had barely caught what he’d said.

“Wait- _you’re_ sorry? What on earth for?” Alistair asked, puzzled by the older elf.

“I’m sorry, for the way I acted… during the battle, I should have been more careful. If I had, maybe we could have lit the signal sooner… Maybe… I don’t know.” Alim felt his cheeks redden further with embarrassment, he wasn’t used to apologising, at least, he wasn’t used to apologising and meaning it.

“What? That’s- how was that your fault? If anyone’s to blame, it’s Lohgain!” Alistair blurted, Alim looked up in surprise at his outburst, Alistair sighed heavily before continuing. “I mean, it’s not your fault, we should have told you before, but... usually right after the ritual the darkspawn blood can make you behave differently, make you stronger and faster, but also angrier, more aggressive. You act without thinking, you actually handled yourself really well. The Kings’ men should’ve done a better job blocking up the basement of the tower, Lohgain was supposed to make sure they did, maybe- maybe he did that on purpose so we wouldn’t be able to light the beacon.” _Or maybe it was my fault._

“Do you really think he would?” Alim asked cautiously, trying not to let his doubt show in his tone, Alistair put up a good front, but he could see he was struggling.

“I don’t know.” Alistair admitted, as he rung out the rag in his hands, twisting and tugging at the rough cloth.

“Do… you want to talk about Duncan?” Alim asked.

“You don’t have to do that; I know you didn’t know him as well as I did.” Alistair shrugged off the comfort Alim offered and went to stand up, but was stopped by Alim’s hand on his wrist.

“It’s okay to talk about it, it might make it… easier to deal with.” Alim pressed, feeling heat rising in his cheeks again, he quickly released Alistair’s arm regretting it already. But Alistair didn’t seem to mind, he settled back down and began plucking at the dry orange grass as he spoke.

“I just, I can’t help but feel like it was my fault, like – like I should have been with Duncan when it happened, maybe I could have saved him. Saved _anyone_. But they’re all dead and I- I got knocked out in that damn tower, the one thing I was supposed to do and I-“ Alistair shook his head, as if to rid his mind of the thoughts that clouded it. “I can’t even remember their names, only the _stupid_ nicknames we had for each other, what If I’m the only one left who knew them all? What if they’re forgotten?”

Alim sat a moment, watching the younger man as he dug into the dirt beneath him with his fingers, his head sunk low in his shoulders and his eyes distant and glazed, fogged with his doubt and guilt.

“You saved me. When that ogre charged at me, I would have died if you hadn’t blocked it, I know that might not mean much to you but, it means something to me and I’m glad you were with me. You can’t blame yourself for something that was never under your control.” Alim’s cheeks only grew hotter, his already burned face reddening further, he knew what he was saying was stupid, but that didn’t stop his mouth from saying it anyway.

“It does mean something. Thank you.” Alistair let out a heavy sigh as he ran his fingers through his mussed sandy hair, “Have you... had someone close to you die? Not that I mean to pry, I'm just...”

“Just my father, I don’t remember much, he tried to protect me from the Templars when they came to take me. You can imagine how that went.” Alim explained with a shrug, in a way it was a good thing he didn’t remember, it made it a lot easier to move on.

“Oh I’m so sorry, here I am going on about lose to a circle mage, when you guys lose everything right from the get go.” Alistair slapped his palm to his face hoping to knock the stupidity out of himself. “I need to get it together, I realise I’m not the only one going through a rough time, I’m sorry for being so whiny, I feel like I’ve done nothing but complain since the moment we met.”

Alim looked up to see Alistair was blushing almost as much as he was, his brown skin flushing almost golden along his cheeks and nose. 

“Oh don’t worry about it! Your handsome, so you can get away with being broody every once and a while.” Alim spoke before his mind caught up with him, Alistair’s eyes darted up to meet his, but before he could question the compliment, Alim had already jumped to his feet and was stumbling away, calling a “Thanks for your help with the dishes!” Behind him.

“Handsome?” Alistair asked aloud, baffled by the elves compliment, he’d never been called handsome before, not by a man at least. And certainly not in such an odd context, Alistair’s pondering was interrupted however, by the sound of mule drawn cart crawling its way into camp, and sat on the top was a Dwarf hollering a greeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not going to lie to you all; this kind of chapter is my favourite, nothing but an awkward bunch of losers failing to make basic conversations. It is so hard not to make the whole damn fic nothing but this and just throw plot out the window, but I'm trying my best. Sorry I haven't posted in a while, I've been so caught up in writing that I've been forgetting to post chapters to you. Hopefully that won't happen too often.  
> Please let me know what you think so far, and how you think my writing could be improved, all and any constructive criticism is not only welcomed but GREATLY encouraged. I want to become the best writer I can, so feedback is crucial!  
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter, stay tuned for more!


	12. Unfamiliar Ground

**Unfamiliar Ground**

**The Bercilian Forest**

 

Before setting off for another full day of endless walking, Ata decided to send the letter she had finally finished. She pictured the person she wanted to send it to, her warm smile that let her wizened eyes crinkle further, the way she smelled whenever she pulled Ata in for an embrace, just like those strange fruits she always ate, ‘they’ll make my horns grow back’ she always teased whilst tapping the sawed off mounts on her head.

Then she remembered when last they spoke, the disappointment and anger that soured her features, she couldn’t imagine what she may have looked like when she found Ata was gone. This was only the second time she’d written to her, in the two years they’d been apart, though that wasn’t entirely true, she’d written countless letters for her to read, this was just the second one Ata was actually going to send. The first had been to tell her that Ata had joined the Wardens, and that there was a blight she needed to fight, it had been brief but this was even shorter, just a simple ‘I survived the battle, but I won’t return.’

Ata drew a single drop of her blood and let it fall onto the earth, then gathered the dirt together whilst chanting the spell her tribe-sister had taught her so many years ago, within a few moments the earth within her hands began to take form into the shape of a raven, with blood-red feathers. She tied the letter to its claws and once she finished the spell, she let it fly into the air, its coat shining against the dawn’s light, as it silently glided through the skies. Ata felt a stab of envy in her stomach as she watched it soar home, where she belonged, where she should be.

Ata quickly shook the thoughts from her mind and gathered herself up, she didn’t have time for doubt, she had a job to do.

 

* * *

 

“I’m very grateful that you have allowed me and my boy to join you, I promise we won’t get in your way, and I’m sure you’ll appreciate our cart to pull along your supplies for you.” Bohdan thanked Ata once again as they readied the cart to go.

“So long as you’re sure you’re happy to travel with us, it could become dangerous.” Ata questioned the Dwarf.

“Oh now don’t you worry about me and my boy, I can’t imagine a company safer to travel with in these trying times.” Bohdan waved of her concern, much to Ata’s relief; she really didn’t want to have to carry all their supplies. Morrigan seemed much less convinced, however, she gave a loud scoff at his words.

“You mean you will use us as your own personal guard, merchant?” She sneered.

“Not to worry, miss, we shan’t have a repeat of last time.” Bohdan assured them both.

“A repeat? What do you mean?” Ata asked, turning a confused glance to Morrigan, who simply rolled her honey eyes in reply.

“This kind lady saved me and my boy in Lothering, we were surrounded by the ‘spawn, and she swooped in and defeated them, it’s why I sought your group out, I knew you must be good folk. Hard to find these days.” Bohdan explained, his heavy lidded eyes almost sparkling as he spoke, his son stood by his side watching as he did, nodding along to the story.

"Oh, well I'm glad." Ata said with a smile, Morrigan simply huffed impatiently and walked away, apparently tired of the conversation. Ata followed after her.

"That was nice of you." Ata said, easily catching up to Morrigan's quick steps with her wide strides.

"Don't you start." Morrigan scorned, stopping once they'd reached where Morrigan's camp had been, she bent down and packed up what remained of her things, dried herbs, lyrium bottles and other such things.

"I'm not starting anything, it's just nice to see you haven't changed." Ata shrugged as she bent down to help her.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Morrigan asked, standing up abruptly, with her pack draped around her shoulder.

"Nothing bad, I meant that you're still kind, even to people you don't know." Ata replied with a smile, pulling a stupefied frown from the witch.

"You have an odd definition of kind." She scoffed, before turning around and walking away, once again, Ata followed.

"You risked yourself to save another person, that's a kind thing to do. Why do you look so confused?" Ata asked, wondering if she had misspoken, it wasn't uncommon; trader language wasn't her first after all.

"I was hardly at risk, twas only a few of those stupid creatures; they were no match for me. If I would have been at risk, I would not have helped, tis as simple as that. And to say I haven't changed since we last met, is to say that I haven't changed since I was child, I fail to see how _that_ is a good thing." Morrigan explained.

"Do you.. Often over think things so much?" Ata asked, baffled by her thought process.

"It seems you have changed a great deal," Morrigan stated, changing the subject, "You used to have some caution about strangers, but now you seem to be willing to offer your trust to anyone, including suspiciously violent priests and murderous Qunari."

"It's not a bad thing to have a little trust in people Morrigan; you taught me that." Ata replied, her voice softening during the end, she was slowly realising that the women walking beside her was not only different from the little girl she'd once known, but may as well as been a completely different person altogether.

"I have done no such thing." Morrigan shook off.

"No." Ata countered, "You may not realise, but you did. When we first met, all I'd known was manipulation and mistrust, I couldn't trust anyone, or anything they said to me, I always expected it to be a trap or trick. But... With you it wasn't, you were simply my friend. And because I learnt to trust, I was able to escape; I found a family and a home."

Morrigan watched Ata as she spoke, the way her obsidian skin flushed in the cool of the dawn, the way she moved her hands as she explained, she still kept her eyes down, darting around, locking on to features briefly but never meeting the other person's gaze without prompt. Morrigan felt a tinge of guilt tug in her chest at Ata's words, trust: what a funny thing it was. Did that mean Ata trusted her? It would be most unwise, and Morrigan couldn't stand the idea of it, considering her intentions. That was another thing Morrigan didn't understand, why should she feel guilty? Her help would save their lives... but then why did she keep it a secret? Morrigan hated questioning herself the way she was, she couldn't imagine what it would be like if the others did as well.

"Oh yes, you seemed so very open and trusting whilst waving a spear at my mother." Morrigan said derisively, Ata paused a moment, before answering.

"You never told me your mother was Flemeth."

"You knew she was a Witch of the Wilds, I had assumed you would put the two together." Morrigan said, "But do not try and change the subject, go on, tell me why my mother is the exception to your rule, not that I disagree that she is untrustworthy, but I would still like to hear _your_ reasoning."

"I had not heard of her until I reached the Anderfels, my people do not... _agree_ with her. Shapeshifting is an important part of our magic, our culture, but she uses it. Not that that's much of an issue, but she uses to turn into a _dragon,_ that's not something my people are too fond of." Ata explained, trying to shape her words right.

" _I_ can shape shift, is that an issue for you?" Morrigan asked.

"Not at all, like I said, that's not the issue." Ata replied, "But we should really get moving, day light is wasting."

"We can talk on the way." Morrigan retorted, not willing to let her so easily get away. Ata laughed lightly, shaking her head.

"Let's talk about something else."

 

* * *

 

 

Lyna's steps became more and more certain as they reached the massive forest, her bare feet thankful for the softer ground, she definitely preferred the grass, mud and occasional stray root over gravel and rock. And judging from her company, Ata and Sten did as well, they seemed more confident than the others, who seemed to stumble over every other obstacle along the forest's treacherous terrain. The witch didn't seem to have much trouble either, she spent most of the time wondering off in some animal form, she'd leave a raven and come back hours later as a wolf. Lyna wondered if Morrigan felt the magic in the air the same way she did, Lyna was no mage of course, but she could still feel the crackle in the air that came from the life in the forest. The fade was pressed thin, and spirits seemed to lurk in the corners, 'they are just as afraid of you, as you are of them.' Merrill's voice chimed in through her mind. Lyna smiled at the words, Merrill, the naive, kind hearted and wonderful person she was, had always assured her that spirits were like halla; peaceful and willing to help when they can, but are skittish, and can be dangerous when scared. A nice sentiment, but very unpopular among the other mages of the clan, but Merrill always had been, no matter how sweet she was. Lyna and Tamlen had been all she had, apart from the Keeper of course, but now Lyna had left and Tamlen was.... was-

"MAKER'S BALLS MORRIGAN!" Lyna's thoughts were interrupted by a shaky screech from Alistair, caused by Morrigan, who had jumped down from a tree in front of him in the shape of a giant spider, his cries carried through the forest, scaring the birds from the tree tops and disturbing something much deeper into the land.

"Shut up you idiot!" Ata hissed at him, feeling the same stir of energy that Lyna had felt.

"But- She!" Alistair argued, his skin flushed with embarrassment.

"Shh!" Sten hushed, drawing his sword and joining Ata in moving further into the trees, he looked to the Vashoth. "You feel it as well?"

Lyna drew her bow and notched an arrow into place, her pointed ears twitched, waiting for the next sign of movement. But it wasn't needed, it seemed the threat wasn't going to use stealth, as a massive howl sliced through the air. Lyna fired her arrow in the direction it came from, a warning shot, hoping to warn the wolves away. But they weren't wolves, no, she was only half right.

They burst through the trees and descended on the group, twice the size of the lean elf and ten times as strong too, but she was fast and her aim steady. One shot to the calf and another to the head, one beast down, a blade to the throat, that was two and a final arrow to the eye and that was her third.

"Did... did we just fight _werewolves_?" Alim stuttered, grasping tightly to his staff that was bloody from whacking it across one of the creature's heads.

"Fuck _yeah!"_ Natia hollered into the air, pulling a snort from Lyna.

"It's a good thing we had Bohdan and Sandal set up outside the forest." Ata spoke with a relieved sigh, "You didn't do too bad Qunari, a bit slack on your form though." She added teasingly as she gave the Sten a patronising pat on the back, he just gave a disgruntled grumble in return.

"Why!? Did you do that!?" Alistair cried out to the Witch, who looked very much like a cat in the way she smiled, ever so amused by her own teasing.

"I have no idea what you mean, I just came down to let you all know that I have found the Dailsh camp." Morrigan reported, completely ignoring Alistair as she turned to Ata.

"Perfect, where?" Ata asked.

"In a clearing north-east of here, tis no more than a day’s travel on foot. But you and I could be there in a few hours if we go above the trees." Morrigan explained, hoping to take the quickest route possible, which would also mean not having to travel with the other fools for another day.

"No, the Dalish tend to be suspicious of outsiders, especially if one is human, I think we'll be better received with Lyna and Alim with us." Ata decided, she turned back to the two elves, "Is that alright for you both? Sorry to use you like this, but given the circumstance..."

"I won't trick my people, if that's what you intend." Lyna spoke firmly, surprising the Vashothari.

"Oh no, that's not what I meant, I just think it would be best if you two were the first faces they see." Ata assured her.

"I don't know how I feel about that, I mean, if we're the first faces they see, we're also the first to be hit if they start firing arrows." Alim chimed in nervously.

"You... don't know much about our people, do you?" Lyna asked, baffled by the idea of the Dalish acting that way, it sounded like something out of a horror story.

"I... no?" He answered, not knowing how he felt about her calling them his people too, people he'd never even met.

"They won't simply attack without reason; they are not the savages the Chantry would have you believe." Morrigan snapped impatiently, feeling more and more frustrated with the idea of dealing with this foolishness for much longer.

"We should split up, a group should stay here and camp up, while the others go ahead and meet the clan. I’ll go with Lyna and Alim to the clan, Morrigan - you’ll have to show us the way. The rest of you should hang back, if you get a chance try and scout the area a little, we need to find information about those creatures if they’re going to be causing problems. Sten, Leliana, please don’t let the others get lost or you know… eaten.” Ata explained the plan before heading out.

 

* * *

 

 

Morrigan had never stepped foot in the Brecilian forest before, that she could remember at least, but it all felt familiar to her. It had the same kind of energy that the wilds had carried. Although the roots knotted tighter here, and the branches reached higher, their leaves greener and the plant thriving in way they never could further south. The wilds had felt more natural, it had grown and thrived on its own, claiming and consuming any outsiders who tried to tame it. The Brecilian forest however, was brimming with another type of life; spirits and demons pressed against the already thinly stretched veil, influencing the life within the trees. The air was charged with magic that left tingles up her spin, her fingers felt charged needing only the slightest of sparks to let fire immense power.

A different magic to that of the Wilds, but no less powerful, Morrigan new it and how it fueled her, she may never have stepped foot on these lands before, but she was already one with it.

Ata had a very different understanding of the forest, the magic within the trees did not empower her, or tingle across her skin. It pressed against her with a crushing force. She felt the eyes of a hundred beasts watching her every move, waiting for her to crumble under the pressure against her flesh. She knew that the feeling wasn’t real, that the eyes belonged to creatures that could only harm her if she allowed them, but it still kept her on edge. The fade and its inhabitants had always had that effect on her, but she wouldn’t let it take its toll on her. _I am real._ _I am real. They can’t harm me._ She chanted through her mind, composing herself as she walked ahead of the others. She was grateful that they were as deep in thought as she was, so they couldn’t see her struggling.

“So… These Dalish we’re meeting, what are they like?” Alim chirped up, turning to the only other elf of their group.

“I don’t know; I haven’t met them yet.” Lyna answered with a soft smile.

“I mean is there anything I should say when we get there? I know each clan will be different, but you have to have some shared culture or greeting or something?” Alim grasped, his palms sweating at the idea of meeting the nomadic elves. He’d heard stories of what they were like, he knew it couldn’t have been all true, he may have grown up under the chantry but he was no fool. He knew that they lied, especially about the elves, but those stories couldn’t have come from nowhere, could they? If even some of it were true…. He’d like to be prepared at the very least.

“You don’t need to say anything, they’re like any other people you’ve met, they could be friendly and welcoming, or they may be hostile to outsiders. Just be polite and try not to be so nervous, they’ll think you’re hiding something.” Lyna instructed, more than a little concerned about the mage. He was clearly not used to being in such uneven terrain, or outside at all actually, judging from his peeling forehead and blistered hands.

“W-why would they think I’m hiding something?” Alim stammered, his anxiety rocketing to the tree tops as he patted down his robes. What would they do if they thought he was? His eyes glanced to Lyna’s bow, were all Dalish so fast to draw? How many of them will there be? He didn’t think he’d stand much of chance against one hunter like Lyna, what would he do against an entire clan?

“Because you look like the physical embodiment of guilt.” Ata interrupted into the conversation, Alim snapped his head up at her words. “If they’re hostile we’ll make sure you get out of here, but the chances are they’re most certainly not. So - take a breath - you’ll be fine.”

Alim took her advice and heaved in a breath and let it out again slowly, he almost began to believe them, until he heard the stern voice of hunter call them to a halt:

"Stop right there, strangers. Why do you seek out the Dalish?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the story begins!! There is quite a bit of dialogue in this chapter and the coming ones, I try to avoid it when I can but then I also have so much for the characters to say!! I'll try to stay away from using dialogue directly from the game, so it won't feel too boring or repetitive to read.   
> The chapters do tend to jump from character to character, but I am trying to keep my focus on Ata and Morrigan. This series will continue through each of the games and beyond, and as we go further on it will focus more and more on my favourite pair of blood mages. It wasn't really my plan to have so many characters, I was just messing around with them, but then I became too attached and now they're here to stay! But believe me when I say that there could have been more, I did hold myself back quite a bit, which I'm very glad for, considering how difficult it is to manage the characters I have already!   
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, let me know what you think in the comments and I hope you come back for more!


	13. We Are Not Monsters

**We Are Not Monsters**

The Brecilian Forest - The Dalish Camp

 

“There is no need to worry, sister. I am Lyna of clan Sabrae, I have joined the Grey Wardens in the hopes to stop this blight, we have come seeking your aid, as by the treaties our people signed many years ago.” Lyna stepped forward to address the hunter, her tone calm and sure.

“Grey Wardens? I’ve never met a Dalish who would willing join a human organisation.” The hunter said.

“We’re not totally human anymore.” Ata added. “Forgive my interruption, I am Ata, the current leader of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden. May we speak with your keeper?”

The hunter eyed the Vashoth for a moment, then looked back to Lyna and the others she travelled with. Her gaze seemed to pierce through Alim when they met his.

“You may, but keep your hound away from the halla. You may travel with our kin, but our arrows will be trained on you, outsiders. And we will not hesitate to fire if you prove a threat.” She decided then simply nodded her head before turning back into the camp, two of her hunters kept their bows drawn and followed behind the group as they made their way into the clearing.

The sun was not yet set over the horizon, but it was dark in the forest, only flickers of sunlight managed to break through the thick canopy of trees.

“You have come during troubled times for our clan, sister, I’m not sure what aid we can offer you.” The hunter spoke to Lyna. “We are plagued by the creatures that haunt these woods, you may have encountered them during your travels.”

“The werewolves? We fought off a pack of them a few leagues south of here.” Lyna explained, the hunter nodded grimly.

“We tried to leave after their first attack, but after a few days, those who were injured during the skirmish began to sicken. We are unable to move, until those afflicted recover or… pass on.” She explained, “Our keeper has forbidden us from going into the forest, we are unable to hunt for food, or fight back. If you could do something to help, maybe we would be better equipped to help you.”

“You are awfully quick to ask for favours.” Morrigan scorned.

“The Wardens need aid; I am simply suggesting what might get you the help you need. Keeper Zathrian is just ahead.” The hunter seemed disinterested in arguing with Morrigan, and walked ahead to speak to a mage hunched over a sick bed, a swell of healing magic pulsated off of him in waves as he tended to the wounded before him. He raised his shaven head to the hunter as she whispered something in Elvhen in his pointed ear, he nodded and thanked the young hunter, before slowly rising to his feet. His robes seemed unsullied by the ground he’d been kneeling on, they appeared nearly immaculate as he moved to meet the strangers, his steps seemed almost silent against the grass beneath his bare feet. The Keeper barely reached Ata’s chest in height, and had to bend his neck to meet her gaze.

“Greetings, I am Keeper Zathrian. My hunter’s tell me that you are Grey Wardens?” His tired features almost appeared amused at the idea, looking upon the young group.

“My name is Ata, we have come seeking aid in combating the darkspawn threat, but I see you are not in a position to do so. We have encountered the werewolves ourselves, it seems very strange magic is at work here.” Ata spoke, letting her gaze wonder over to the wounded and sick the hunter had mentioned, she didn’t need magic to sense they were dying, and It seemed there was as many Dalish lying in those beds as there were walking around. “From how your hunter described it, it doesn’t sound like your clan will make it out of here without suffering casualties. Would you be willing to accept our aid, if we can be of any help?”

The Keeper’s eyebrows shot up at Ata’s suggestion, along with Morrigan’s, though the Witch seemed to remain silent, for the moment at least.

“You wish to offer us help?” The Keeper asked, baffled at the idea. “I would not expect such kindness from outsiders.”

“Please, do not misunderstand, although I am happy to help your people. I do not offer this aid without an ulterior motive, we are Grey Wardens after all, and the blight is our priority.” Ata explained.

“Of course, still, it is more than any human has offered; thank you. As for what you can do, I do have an idea, these creatures that infest the forest are cursed, and see to be able to spread it onto others through their blood. These people you see sick are not dying, but transforming into the beasts that haunt us, I believe that the only way to stop this curse is to go to its source. Witherfang we call it. A great wolf who has spread the curse to others, with its heart, perhaps I could destroy the curse. I understand this is not trivial task, and this is why I cannot send my hunters, but perhaps you and any others you have brought with you, would be able to defeat this beast.” The Keeper explained to Ata, who sat quietly as she listened, taking her time to process before replying.

“That makes sense, do you think you know enough about the curse to stop it? Some of the people I travel with are mages, including myself, we may be able to look into it as well.” Ata suggested, though she knew little of curses, what the older elf described sounded like blood magic to her. She was sure that if she and Morrigan worked together, they could be able to decipher it.

“No.” The Keeper answered quickly, “I… apologise. I do appreciate the offer, but this is my people who are threatened, and you are strangers. I hope you can understand why I wish to handle this myself.”

“Apart from the actual slaying of the beast and retrieving its heart, _that_ you are more than happy to leave to us.” Morrigan interjected.

“I think it best if we all stick to what we know, me to protecting my people and undoing curses. And you to defeating evil and sarcastic comments.” The Keeper snapped back to the Witch. “It is getting late; do you have a camp nearby? If not, you are more than welcome to stay here for the night, I would not advise wondering the forest so late.”

“Are you certain we wouldn’t be an intrusion?” Ata asked, knowing he’d say no and being very grateful of that fact. The magic in the forest was strong there, but less imposing than the areas around it, and she was definitely not up for a late night stroll through a demon infested land.

“You are here to help, so long as you are respectful of the clan, you will be welcome.”

“Ma serannas, Hahren.” Lyna spoke bowing her head slightly to the Keeper.

“You do the people proud, Da’len. Let us hope your company prove worthy of you.”

 

* * *

 

 

Natia didn’t like forests, she had decided. It ruined the best part of being top-side, what was the point of being outside and exposed at night if she couldn’t even see the stars? With all the foliage blocking her view and the claustrophobia of being surrounded, she may as well of been back in Orzammar. She could only catch glimpse through the tree tops of the two moons that hung above them, their light reaching like beacons down through the leaves, illuminating their small fire-less camp.

Natia had taken up first watch, not that there was much to observe, the forest felt incredibly… still. Stale almost, which made no sense to her, it was supposedly brimming with life, with the trees so high she could barely see their tops and the strange creatures that lived there. And yet she couldn’t get the overwhelming feeling of emptiness within the forest, _I’m so far from home._ The words echoed through her mind, but she couldn’t quite place the meaning, what was home to her? Orzammar? Dust town? She missed her sister, Ata had promised to send letters for all of them if they wished, but she was uncertain what she could say.

“I’m alive would be a start, I suppose.” Natia sighed out loud to herself. “I’ve also joined the Grey Wardens, but because there’s a blight going on I’m not getting paid, and so I can’t send you any money home like I promised you. So you’re going to have to keep whoring yourself to nobles, sorry about that, hope you’re not dead even though I abandoned you and killed your employer!” Natia ranted on to the nothing around her, feeling a sickly knot tighten in her stomach. She needed sleep, it was about time for to switch anyway, she turned back to the camp to wake Sten, only to find him standing behind her.

“Sodding nug-humping _fuck_.” She cursed at the giant, nearly jumping out of her skin. “How long were you there?” She demanded from the stern faced Qunari.

“Do all Dwarves have such… colourful language?” The Sten ignored her questions with his own.

“It’s all the lyrium in the water.” Natia replied bitterly, having no patients for the man before her whatsoever. “I’m guessing you heard what I was saying earlier?”

“You are correct.” Sten answered. “You miss your home.” He added on, catching Natia by surprise.

“Yeah well some of us are actually capable of emotion like that.” She snapped back, “Some of us miss home, and some of us aren’t up for murdering children.” If Natia hadn’t been so tired, she may have thought twice before speaking, but she was, and exhausted Natia thought it was a good idea to be confrontational with the murder who was easily three times her size.

“I am well aware of the weakness in my actions, I do not need reminding of that by a sell sword.” Sten’s voice became harsher as he spoke, _good_ Natia thought, at least he was showing some emotion.

“I may have been a criminal, but that just meant everyone else I killed was too, never an innocent child. There is never an excuse for that, no amount of coin would make me do that.” Natia felt her voice getting louder, but she didn’t care, she needed to yell at someone and the Qunari deserved it, and worse.

“I have made no attempts to excuse myself.” The Sten was settling himself down again, after his brief almost break in his composure.

“Why? Why don’t you defend yourself? Is there no reason for what you did? You seem to know what you did was wrong, but don’t show _any_ emotion! Don’t you see how fucked up that is?” Natia didn’t know why she’d gotten herself so worked up, she’d met people who’d committed similar crimes and worse in her time, why was this hitting her harder? Why did she care about his reasons?

“I do not defend myself because there is nothing to defend, the reasons for my failure to the farmer and his family are mine alone, I owe you no explanation.” He was growing impatient with the small woman’s line of questioning, especially with her rapidly increasing volume in the already anxious forest.

“What do you mean by failure?” Natia wasn’t going to let him get away without answers, even if it meant waking up the others, and anything else that slept nearby in the trees.

“Parshaara, I tire of this endless questioning. Leave me be.” He snapped at last, hissing at the Dwarf before stomping past her to take up his post to watch the camp until the others returned.

“Fine! Whatever! I don’t care!” Natia shouted after him, throwing her short arms in the air in frustration before stomping off to her bed roll, to stew in her anger until she fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

“I don’t like this; I feel as though we are being watched.” Leliana whispered to Natia, as if she were afraid of being over heard. After dawn they’d decided to venture out from their camp and scout as Ata had suggested, it had been relatively uneventful, if confusing; it was easy to get turned around in a forest as big as this.

“I get what you mean, this forest gives me nug-bumps.” Natia said, glancing over her shoulder to the dark shadows of the trees.

“Really? I don’t feel it, I thought it was nice here, apart from the werewolves and occasional darkspawn.” Alistair spoke with a relaxed shrug, seemingly at ease in the spirit filled woods.

“But were you not a Templar, I would think spirits and demons would make you more uncomfortable?” Leliana asked.

“Well I was never a proper Templar, and so long as there aren’t any demons…” Alistair said, feeling less sure of himself, was there really a reason for him to be afraid and he was just too dense to see? It was very possible.

“I wish I was as brave as you, even Ata and Sten seemed unsettled by this place, even more so in fact.” Leliana continued, “I hope he’s alright on his own.”

“The man’s a _giant Qunari_ soldier, he killed a farmstead _bare-handed_ __, I think he’ll be fine.” Alistair brushed off her concerns with an amused smile.

“Did he really kill them all, no weapon or anything?” Natia asked, turning to the sister.

“I only know what I overheard the Revered Mother say, he just turned up at the village gates and asked to be caged for his crimes, apparently the scene of the _incident_ was grim… the bodies were torn, limb from limb.” Leliana divulged.

“Sweet Maker, Sister Leliana, did I just hear you confess to eavesdropping on a Revered Mother?” Alistair exclaimed, letting his draw job in mock horror.

“Oh shush you, it can be very dull in a Chantry you know, I needed to hear a little gossip every once and a while.”

“Wait- Back before, you mentioned they were torn _limb from limb_ , I know that he’s big but, no one can be that strong.” Natia couldn’t picture Sten going savage like that, it seemed so out of character, but then again, she’d only known him a few weeks.

“Well maybe, have you seen their size? Can you imagine what they feed them back in Par Vollen, one of the senior wardens once told me that they eat dragon meat, its why they have horns.” Alistair said.

“Ata told me that the Vashoth do not eat meat, she seemed less certain about Qunari, however.”

“Oh, is that why she is much smaller than Sten?” Alistair asked.

“That’s what I thought! Do not ask her about though, she seemed quite sensitive about the issue.” Leliana warned.

Natia rolled her eyes at the two gossips, and returned to her deep thought, even after her argument with Sten had ended, she couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d said. Or more, how he’d said it. He didn’t seem like the type to lose control that way, it had taken a while for her to wind him up, even when she was doing purposefully, and even then he simply walked away. There would be no reason for him to kill the farmers, especially the children, if he simply wanted to rob them, there was no doubt in her mind that if faced with a Qunari, that an untrained farmer would simply let them take what they want. They wouldn’t fight back. Not only that, they weren’t simply just murdered, their bodies were destroyed. Only a mindless creature would do something like that, and Sten wasn’t mindless.

Natia wasn’t sure why she was so focused on it, it was normal really, to wonder about the motives of one traveling companions. And she’d always liked a puzzle, something to solve, it was just more complex than the usual problems she was faced with. No, a shiv to the rib wouldn’t unravel the truth for her now.

“Wait, there are darkspawn nearby. Half a dozen maybe, they’re heading this way.” Alistair warned and drew his sword and shield. Only a few moments later and the stragglers were dead, they had been loud crying creatures, fast and deadly in their attacks. Natia remembered encountering a few during Ostagar, they were just as ugly as before. “Damn, I hate shrieks, they’re the worst.” Alistair said with a grimace. Natia wasn’t going to argue with that, she’d hated darkspawn before the blight, but being up close personal with them seemed to fuel her disdain for the creatures. It was a rare occurrence when the spawn managed to break through the defences of Orzammar, but it did happen. Dust town was always hit the hardest, with no guards or soldiers to fight the creatures, they would run rampant until the Carta ended up stepping to put a stop to them, before they managed to take too many of the women. That was always the greatest fear for a young girl growing up in the deep roads, being taken by and turned into one of those things, and anyone who tried to save you would simply be torn to shreds…

“Leliana, did the Revered Mother mention anything about the women of the farm?” Natia burst out, taking the sister by surprise.

“Yes actually, the mother was missing, the guards seemed to think she escaped. But she never returned, not before we left anyway, she may have gone back the village by now. Poor woman, I can’t imagine losing everything like that.” Leliana explained, confirming what Natia had already suspected.

“We should head back; the others are probably back by now.” Natia suggested, before quickly turning around and marching back to camp, it was lucky for the two humans that Natia’s legs were so short, else they would have lost her to the trees at the speed she went.

Needless to say, Ata had not yet returned to the camp, in fact the it was empty. All that remained were their deserted bedrolls and the smoulders of the camp’s fire. Leliana and Alistair elected to rest their sore feet and let Natia look for Sten, who was only a little way down the river. He stood on a small plot of even ground, a greatsword in his grasp as he practiced his attacks, the blade sliced through the air in slow strong strikes as he advanced forward, his footing sure and steady.

“Ata’s right, your form is sloppy.” Natia teased, alerting him of her presence, he continued his attacks against the air around him, ignoring her. “You lied to me you know, to all of us, and that village.” That seemed to grab his attention, he placed his blade back into the holster strapped to his back, but didn’t yet turn to face her.

“What are you talking about?”

“You said that you murdered those people, but you didn’t, the darkspawn did, didn’t they?” Natia accused.

“It was not by my hand that they were killed, no.” Sten admitted, turning to face her. “But that does not mean that I am not responsible for their deaths.”

“Hardly.” Natia dismissed with a snort.

“Tell me, if you kill a man and leave his family without him to provide food, and they then starve, are you not responsible for their deaths also?” Sten demanded, his steely eyes softening as his emotions finally began to break through.

“I suppose so.” Natia admitted.

“And what if you dedicate your whole life to defend those who cannot, only to be too weak and to fail when faced with darkspawn, not only when they attack your brothers, but also a second time when they come back for the family that saved your life. Tell me! Are you not responsible?” He demanded once more, his face collapsing into agony as he relived the memories of his failures.

“Shit Sten- I, I’m sorry.” Natia wasn’t sure what else she could say to that, it threw her back to see how much he cared, he had hidden it so well.

“Not as sorry as they are.” He said dryly.

“It’s not the same.” Natia finally spoke after a moment’s pause. “The difference between a thug like me killing a man and leaving his family to starve is different from a warrior who fails to protect. My intentions were to kill, and I succeeded, and would do the same again despite knowing the consequences. Your intentions were to protect your brothers and save the farmers, you failed but you are not guilty.”

“Intentions matter little when the result it the same, a well-meaning murderer still has blood on his hands.” Sten argued, unconvinced. “I was also… not referring to you in my metaphor, I did not mean to insult you.”

“I thought you just said that intentions don’t matter?” Natia countered, glad to lighten the mood even if it was only slightly.

“The common tongue is quick to trip a foreign speaker.” Was all Sten said in reply, although her words offered little comfort, he was grateful to have her company. She was by far the strangest thing he’d encountered in the south so far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This deviates from canon significantly when it comes to Sten's character and I have my reasons for this, I don't like that bioware made a race that is very clearly black coded, and for the first character introduced from that race to be someone who murdered an entire family for now reason other than panic? So I decided to change his back story to fix this, I have also decided that in my fic the Qunari/Vashoth/Tal-Vashoth won't be black coded like in canon, yes there will be black characters from the race, such as Sten and Ata, but I've decided to make them, as well as all the other races, as diverse as human's in real life. I've done this to avoid profiling and stereotyping, I also find it very suspicious that bioware made a race that fits pretty much all negative black stereotypes, and made the race separate from humans. The whole narrative raised too many red flags for me, so I decided to re-make it.   
> But that's just my view of the way bioware handled their writing of the Qunari, I'm sure others will disagree with me, I could just be over thinking this (as I often do).   
> But ANYWAY I thought I'd add in this chapter as a sought of filler like section, as much as I love Natia, Sten and their odd relationship, they will not be the focus and will tie into the main story very little. Or maybe they will later on, you've probably noticed that I change my mind an awful lot.  
> Thank you for reading this and sticking with this mess of a fic for so long, (I've been working on this for about a year now!!)   
> Hope you enjoyed and are looking forward to the next chapter!!


	14. Ash

**Chapter 14**

**Ash**

**Brecilian Forest**

 

There was nothing quite like the feeling of the air beneath wings. Ata had missed it sorely and was happy to take Morrigan’s suggestion and fly back, leaving Alim and Lyna to wait with the Dalish, whilst they fetched the others. The woman caring for the halla was less pleased about Ata leaving Mutt behind, but Ata had full faith in her companion to be well-behaved even whilst she was absent. Morrigan flew at Ata’s left side, as always, she chose the form of a raven, her feathers as dark as the night. Ata’s feathers were blood red; the same colour of any creature she transformed into, she had no idea why, perhaps it had something to do with the source of her magic, maybe Morrigan would know.

After an hour or so of flight, they both lowered down to a large tree to rest, though it was much faster to fly than to walk or run, it was certainly draining.

“Ah! It’s so nice to fly again!” Ata exclaimed excitedly, once they’d both settled onto a pair of sturdy looking branches high above the ground. “It feels like it’s been forever.”

“It looks that way as well, judging from how scattered your flight pattern is.” Morrigan teased lightly, “Do we really need to rest so soon? You cannot seriously be tired already.”

“No not really, I just like the view up here.” Ata admitted, glancing down at the world below them. The forest truly was massive, the trees seemed to stretch on for miles and miles in every direction, an endless ocean of green.

“You are far too easily distracted.” Morrigan said, after a moment’s pause.

“Oh?” Ata queried as she lifted her gaze back up, intrigued to hear more of Morrigan’s thoughts.

“Yes, here we are in the midst of a blight, and instead of seeking out an army as you should. You are stopping to offer aid to every stranger that asks, and to look at pretty views. Tis foolish indeed.”

“If my actions make me a fool, then I am happy to be one.” Ata accepted with a shrug, not wishing to argue. “But tell me, what does that make the person who willingly follows my lead?”

“I am hardly willing." Morrigan reminded the woman, though she knew it wasn’t completely true. "In fact, the last time I returned from the civilised world, I'd sworn to Flemeth that I had no intention to leave again. Tis by her request that I am here.”

“You could leave... if you wished.” Ata responded, feeling an awful tightening in her chest as she waited for a response.

“Do you wish for me to leave?” Morrigan asked.

“No, I enjoy your company, but if you're staying, I want it to be because _you_ want to, not because Flemeth told you to.”

“Hm. Now that _is_ a first.” Morrigan remarked with a chuckle, “I will admit, it _is_ rather marvelous within these woods; can you feel the magic in the air crackling?” Morrigan spoke. Despite her protest, she did enjoy the chance to relish in the energy that flowed through her. “Tis not unlike the wilds.”

“Do you miss them? The wilds?” Ata asked.

“Somewhat.” Was all she gave.

“Did it not get lonely, living in the wilds for so long, away from everyone else?” Ata questioned further, she wanted to understand Morrigan, how her mind worked, her past, who she was now, compared to who she’d once known. But for the moment, all she was getting were glances inside, before she closed off again. Like Morrigan was afraid of something, like the she afraid of the vulnerability that letting someone in would create, that’s something Ata understood well.

“At times, perhaps. As a child, if I wished companionship, I ran with the wolves and flew with the birds. If I spoke, 'twas to the trees.” Morrigan explained fondly. “A world full of buildings and people and things… it all seemed so foreign to me. Tis foolish to say, but whilst I was among civilisation was when I felt the loneliest, it is isolating to be surrounded by strangers in an unfamiliar land.”

“That’s not foolish, it makes perfect sense to me.” Ata replied, the corner of Morrigan’s lips lifted slightly; a hidden smile. Of course Ata would understand what she meant. “The wilds must have felt incredibly… peaceful in comparison.”

“For a time, but one can only remain a child for so long. I remember the first time I crept beyond the edges of the wilds, I watched the villagers and the merchants in the shape of a wolf, in the hopes of remaining undetected. This is when I happened upon a noble lady and her carriage, adorned with all manner of sparkling garments the likes of which I had never before seen. I was overcome with wonder, to me this seemed what true wealth and beauty must be. I snuck up behind her and snatched a beautiful golden hand mirror, and dashed back to the wilds with it clutched to my chest in delight.” Morrigan retailed, a spark of glee revealed in her smile, Ata pictured the scene she described with ease. Morrigan had always been daring as a child, always pushing the limits of what she could do, spending time with her had always left Ata with a terrifying mix of anxiety and excitement. Despite how things had ended, Ata would never give those memories up, she was certain that she could never be the person she was without them. 

“How did Flemeth react?” Ata asked, dreading the answer, Morrigan’s face seem to sink as she continued on her story.

“She was… not pleased. I remember my heart breaking as she smashed the mirror on the ground, but she was right, of course.” Morrigan assured herself. “I had put myself at risk for something worth nothing. Love and beauty are fleeting and have no meaning, survival has meaning, power has meaning. Without those lessons, I would not be alive today.”

“Do you truly believe so?” Ata asked, “Beauty may be meaningless, but love is not the weakness we were taught it is; it is a strength.”

“Do you seek to destroy the Archdemon with love, then?” Morrigan teased, unconvinced.

“I suppose not. But I cannot do it alone, can I? Sometimes we must rely on others.”

“Perhaps, but that does not mean we should allow ourselves to love, that can only lead to co-dependency and failure.” Morrigan returned, not sure who she was trying to convince.

They sat in thoughtful silence for a moment, simply enjoying the silence of the forest below them, Ata appreciated being far above the magic of the spirits; it gave her a chance to breathe freely, even if it was just for a moment. Her eyes were drawn to a trail of ants climbing along the tree trunk in a long thin line, weaving through the bark's grooves. Ata watched the ants as they made their way to Morrigan’s side of the branch, quickly crawling onto one of her long black sleeves. Without thought, Ata leaned over and lightly brushed the ants off of Morrigan’s arm, Morrigan’s gaze jumped to the contact.

“Sorry.” Ata withdrew quickly, tucking her hands away under her legs. Morrigan watched her for a moment, as Ata kept her eyes glued to the ground below them. "We should get going." Ata finally spoke again.

"Yes, before the ground opens up and swallows us." Morrigan agreed, clambering to her feet.

“For what it’s worth.” Ata began as she stood, “You mentioned before that you never planned to leave the wilds again; despite the circumstances, I’m glad it worked out this way.” Ata said, before bursting forward into the air again, soaring above the trees. Morrigan watched her go ahead for a moment, a blush colouring her cheeks.

“Fool.” Was all she said with the shake of her head, and then she too launched herself into the air, and she was flying at her side once more.

 

* * *

 

 

Lyna felt like she'd grown and extra head, with Alim clinging so close to her, she didn't mind though, she was ashamed to admit that she actually liked it. It had been a while since she'd last felt needed, or depended on, and to reunite a circle elf with their people? Nothing made her as proud, especially a clan she was familiar with. She'd met the clan at the last Arlathvhen and Keeper Zathrian was the same as before, the rest of the clan seemed to believe that he had unlocked the key to Elvhen immortality through magic. Lyna was less sure. But she would keep that to herself for the time, she wasn't going to raise suspicion of her own people to the others, without some evidence aside from a hunch and her own Keeper's warnings. Marethari had always been cautious when it came to the fade and magic, despite being a mage herself, which had caused constant conflict between her and Merrill, and Lyna was always in the middle.

Lyna would just have to wait and see what came of it, in the end, he was a good Keeper, who seemed to care a great deal about his people and was doing right by them. So long as he wasn't harming his people to achieve his long life, then he was good in Lyna's books.

"It's so... serene here." Was all Alim could manage, it was the first he'd spoken since he and Lyna had been left in the camp. "That's the only way I can describe it, there's so much magic in the air, but it's peaceful, how do they manage that?" Alim turned to the hunter.

"My Keeper always told me that Elvhen magic dwells in these forests, it welcomes and protects those who belong, and pushes out those who do not." Lyna explained, "The peace you feel is the forest welcoming you home."

Alim still didn't know how he felt about that, the Dalish had been so welcoming of him, they called him 'brother' they called the forest his home... never in his life had he been treated with such trust. He couldn't help but recoil at their words, it was all so cliché he couldn't help but be suspicious. He just wanted the others to return so they could get moving again, he would rather take on werewolves than spend his day awkwardly smiling and nodding at the Dalish.

"You don't like it here?" Lyna asked Alim, pulling him out of his deep thought.

"No! No it's not that, it's just..." Alim paused a moment, "They're all so _friendly_."

Lyna couldn't help but giggle. "You city elves are so strange, only you would describe friendly as a bad thing."

"When you’re used to being referred to as 'mage', 'elf' or 'knife-ear'. It's going to be a shock to the system when people call you things like 'brother', 'da'len' or  - _maker forbid_ \- your actual name." Alim replied, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

"Oh, I didn't think about it that way, I suppose we Dalish are lucky to live far away from humans.” Lyna thought on it for a moment, “I know it must be strange, but the Dalish, they don't have an ulterior motive when they are kind to you. I can promise you that." Lyna assured, with a smile that reminded him of Senior-Enchanter Wynne from Kinloch hold, one that you receive, and all of a sudden your problems melt away into nothing. It was difficult for him to resist smiling back. "Let me show you around."

Even though Lyna was an outsider to that particular camp, it did not feel as such, it was refreshing to be around elves again; she hadn't realised how much she'd missed it until then. It wasn't the same without Tamlen or Merrill of course, but nothing ever would be home again without them, she'd known that as soon as she'd lost them. But she could distract herself, Alim was good for that, he had a lot of questions, and she was happy to answer them all, she had some for herself as well, about the tower and mages. He seemed more reluctant to answer, she didn't know if it was because the foul memories tied to the tower, or if he simply didn't want to admit to not knowing the answer.

The day seemed to fly by, it was evening again when Ata arrived, followed by the others, they made a second camp just outside the Dalish, not wishing to intrude. The next morning, they would delve into the forest and slay the beast within. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mentioned before that I didn't like using in game dialogue, but I felt like the mirror story is an important part of Morrigan's character, so I kept it in anyway. I probably won't do that again, mainly because I think it ruins the scene a bit for me, it makes it feel very out of touch. I don't know if that makes sense...  
> Anyway! You may have noticed that I have added a new work to this series called The Dragon Age Lore. As the title might imply, it is the lore from this series, I'll be adding in lore I've re-made or created relative to the story. I'll be adding to it as time goes by, it won't be updated as often as the main story and you don't need to read it to read the main work, but it will add extra bits of information that add to the story and its characters. I thought this would be better than having the characters explain everything, leaving space for them and me to concentrate on the story itself.   
> If I mention something in the fic that needs lore to explain it, then I will leave an asterisks (*) next to it, and tell you which chapter of The Dragon Age Lore you need to read for it to make sense.   
> Thanks for reading!


	15. Sanctuary

**The Brecilian Forest**

 

_The world encased within the cold stone is always silent, its ceilings high and its halls wide to make space for the pale ghosts that lurked in their paintings, absent eyes watching the young stranger. Not a window in sight, closing her in from the lands she’d once known, but had no memory of. The secret that no one wants getting out, but it does. Seeping past the ancient locked doors, hiding on the servants’ slips, seeking and setting seed in the minds of a passing merchant or nosey guard. Planting itself firmly, roots dig deep and tug at their tongues to speak, but they never do._

_“How adorable, where did you get it?” The woman cooed, her long skeleton fingers floated a gesture over the crimson ribbon around A Girl’s throat, attaching her by silk to another ghostly hand. “My husband, you met him last year; at my late cousin’s summer social, he insists that we don’t have one.” She begins, wetting her painted lips with another sip of liquor, her lily hands cradling the crystal glass as though it were a new-born. “Says something about foreign diseases, but I’m sure there are places you can get clean ones.”_

_The ribbon draws her closer, a chilly hand rests on her shoulder as they reply._

_“A Gentleman never tells.” He laughs through his nose, more of an exhale, his mouth sealed shut in a thin smile._

_She stands in the room, red velvet draped across a plush bed, A Gentleman perches himself at its foot, a grimoire opened across his lap. He sips wine as he reads, ruby on his rose lips consistently held in a grimace. A long finger outlines the glyphs scratched into the parchment, a shiver crawls across her skin as A Gentleman brings his gaze up to her. He points at the page._

_“What does this say?” He asks sickly sweet and soft, sticking to her skin, pulling the hairs on her arms and legs to a stand._

_She looks at the page, symbols fill in the gaps left by the sketches of familiar creatures and life she’d never seen. She knows they are rituals, magic, but it means nothing to her, each symbol fogging her mind. She looks up back to meet his glass blue eyes, panic in her gaze; she doesn’t know._

_She reaches out without words or touch, a beg in her gaze to be kind, to be merciful. A Gentlemen huffs an exasperated breath, she flinches as he slams the tome closed and tosses it to the side._

_“I’m feeling faint again.” A Gentlemen tells her, she jumps to attention and a blade draws against her wrist. A crystal glass sits empty and waiting, drip drip drip, it slowly fills with red. Thick and staining A Gentlemen swirls it in his glass, he takes a sip, testing it like fine wine, is it to his tastes? An Anderfel red, he downs the glass and the fire in his veins simmers. A Gentleman is pleased, she may rest now, the wound is healed as though it never happened, smooth dark skin, unmarked and precious. A Slave ushers her away as A Gentleman falls asleep, the secrets tug at her lip, or is it disgust? A Gentleman never tells, A slave remembers, and The Girl must do nothing._

Ata woke up with a start at the sounds of screaming, thankfully It wasn't her own, instead they came from Natia.

Ata leapt from her bed roll and grabbed her spear without thought, she then launched herself out of her tent and to were the Dwarf’s screams were coming from, she arrived at Natia’s tent only seconds before Sten did, his sword drawn. But the only thing inside Natia’s tent, was herself and Lyna, who was desperately trying to shake her awake.

“Dragon! There’s a dragon!” Natia cried out as she eventually snapped out of her screams and was awake at last.

“A dragon? What- Mutt!” Ata called out for her beast.

“I saw it too.” Lyna added, her voice soft and hollowed. “We had the same nightmare.”

“Nightmare? I’m a Dwarf! We don’t dream! What the fuck was that?!” Natia continued her panicked questioning. Ata relaxed her stance with a sigh.

“I thought Alistair had explained; when you become a Grey Warden, you have these… Nightmares, they show the Archdemon and the horde, from what I understand.” Ata explained as best she could, which was difficult considering she’d never actually experienced it. Ata couldn’t dream, at least, she wasn’t _supposed_ to be able to dream.

She assumed what she’d just saw… what she’d felt, must have been nightmare, but how? Ever since she was a child, the sleep she could muster had been empty, a simple spell placed by Ash to offer her some respite from the nightmares that had plagued her. But now they had returned just as vile and real as they had been before.

Maybe it was wearing off, which saddened her greatly, she had little with her since she had left her home Ash's magic was all the reminder she had. So much had changed about here recently. Ever since Ostagar when she did… _something_ to those darkspawn. Was it the Blight? Was the taint finally catching up with her? Then wouldn’t her dream have been of the Archdemon and not her own past?

“I can’t believe that, when you heard about a dragon in camp, your first instinct was to call for your dog.” Alim spoke in disbelief, pulling Ata out of her spiralling thoughts.

“Oh- I, well she is my dog, I thought you Ferelden’s loved them?” Ata replied, trying to snap herself back into reality. “Did you have the nightmares as well? You’re handling it well.”

“Pfft, I’m a _mage._ Nightmares aren’t anything new to me.” Alim brushed off, but the dark circles around his eyes revealed something else.

Alistair had finally woken up and was at the tent by then, ready to explain the nightmares to the others, he would handle that better than she could, he’d always seemed able to comfort even the most distressed of individuals. Ata decided to leave him to it, she sent Leliana to the nearby Dalish to assure them that they weren’t under attack, and then wondered from the camp, hoping that the fresh air would clear her mind.

Ata was sat by the nearby stream, lost in her own thoughts when Morrigan approached her and without a word, sat down at her side. Morrigan watched Ata out of the corner of her eye as she took in one deep breath after the next, she could see something was leaving her unsettled. In the way her flesh was sticky with sweat, despite her light clothing in the cool night air. Highlighting the tattoos that wrapped around Ata’s arms and travelled up and down onto her chest, hidden by her clothes, Morrigan couldn’t help but wonder what it might look like.

 They sat in silence for some time before Ata spoke.

“You’re a blood mage… are you able to control others with it?” Ata finally asked.

“No, I am not able to do so. I know rituals and such that use blood magic, but I can’t use it to influence others, and tend to avoid using it in battle.” Morrigan answered honestly, “Can you?”

“To an extent, I can control the blood itself, much like any mage can influence an element. But when it comes to the mind or someone’s will, I cannot control it. But-.” Ata heaved in a deep breath and began again. ”At Ostagar… in the heat of battle I used my blood and… I _controlled_ the darkspawn, I gave an order and they _obeyed._ ” Ata couldn’t believe her own words as she spoke, even though she’d seen it with her own eyes.

“I have never heard of anything like that before, I thought only Archdemons could do such a thing, this is a great asset is it not? The perfect ability for a Grey Warden?” Morrigan asked, such an ability could be nothing but a good thing in her own eyes. “This is a new ability for you, how?”

Ata paused again, her eyelids were heavy and sore, but the last thing she wanted was to go back to sleep.

“I think the taint is changing me, in ways it isn’t supposed to. I too had a nightmare, but it had nothing to do with the Archdemon or the blight.” Ata began, her words strained and chocking as she spoke. “I was back, back in Tevinter and a slave again. _He_ was there and I- I was trapped.” Ata’s hands were tugging at her own throat, as if to remove the red ribbon that had once collared her.

“Dreams are not so unusual are they?" Morrigan asked, trying to decipher chaos in Ata's mind for a a solution.

"A healer had used blood magic to block my dreams, a long time ago." Ata explained.

"This is very strange... perhaps the taint is amplifying your magic? Could it have possibly restored your ability to dream?” Morrigan questioned further, trying to understand, but this was not like any magic she knew of, surely Flemeth would have known if it was possible to control darkspawn through blood magic. Flemeth did enjoy her secrets, but Morrigan is certain this is something her mother would share, and would use herself.

“I don’t know what’s causing all this _shit_ , but all it’s doing is reminding me of how _incomplete_ I am. There has always been something missing in me, my memories, my dreams. I have no idea who I am, or was, before him, and it just proves how _weak_ I am on my own. How, no matter what I do or where I am, _he_ is always there in the back of my mind. And I’m so fucking _sick_ of it.” Ata spat out her words, she was so tired of feeling controlled by things she didn’t understand. Tired of needing others, she needed Morrigan to escape from slavery in the first place, she needed the Vashoth to teach her to fight, to teach her what it meant to be free and to exist without someone controlling her. And she needed the Wardens to have a purpose beyond Seheron. She was useless on her own.

Morrigan’s cool fingers grasped the hand wrapped around Ata’s throat, and pulled it down to her side between them, they did not meet each other’s gaze as Morrigan spoke:

“You are many things, but weak is not one of them, you are strong and _he_ is not here. Your new ability does not come from _him_ but from you, and you must use it now, the past can only control you if you allow it.” Morrigan’s voice was calm and steady as she assured Ata.

Ata glanced down to the hand grasping her own, and noticed the scar on Morrigan’s palm, she grasped her hand tighter, pressing their matching scars together.

“Sorry.” Was all Ata said, they sat together, speaking in hushed whispers through the night. They spoke of anything but Tevinter, blood magic or the Blight. Morrigan shared tales of her mother, and ancient history that had long since been lost or shrouded in legend, whilst Ata told of far away places she'd seen, of cities and people Morrigan had never seen or heard of. The two sat in their own world that night, safe together in the forest, where no one else could find them.  Until dawn came again, and they finally unclasped their hands to prepare for the day.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a little shorter than usual, but I've fallen so much in love with this scene that I thought it deserved it's own chapter, I'll make up for it by posting the next chapter sooner.  
> I'm going to be leaving my job soon and will take some time off, so hopefully I'll be able to spend more time on this and post out a whole bunch of chapters. Autumn is the season of being indoors, drinking tea and being gay, so hopefully it will put me in the right mindset for writing this fic. Which, if you have not noticed so far, is very gay, with a hint of bi thrown in.  
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I loved writing it! See you next time :)


	16. Deeper into the Woods

Deeper into the Woods

Brecilian Forest (Still)

 

Lyna had elected to stay in the Dalish camp, to help the hunters in defending against any further attacks, and despite Natia’s insistence, Ata had her and Sten say behind as well, so as not to draw much attention to their group as they made their way deeper into the woods. Aside from that, after the night before, Natia was in no state to be fighting, she was still reeling from the nightmares. And Ata couldn’t blame her for it, she felt just as drained as Natia had looked, but she didn’t have the luxury of sitting out.

They trudged through the forest with relative ease, they were far enough north that the darkspawn were sparse, the only things that they needed to worry about were the werewolves, who seemed to have retreated back into the shadows. They weren’t difficult to track, however, which made they’re job easier, especially with Morrigan scouting ahead in animal form.

“Alistair, I was hoping to talk to you.” Alim mumbled to Alistair, the two were walking side by side a little further back from the rest of the group, just far enough back so that they weren’t over heard by the others. Unless they tried to listen in, which Leliana most certainly was.

“About what?” Alistair replied nonchalantly.

“I heard you talking to the others, about you being a Templar? Is that right?” Alim asked, he hadn’t meant to over hear his discussion with Leliana, but the camp was small and voices carried. It had made Alim a lot less certain about Alistair since then, he’d begun to quite like the warrior. He seemed nice and to genuinely care about what he was doing, about others around him, about…him. But if he were a Templar… that would make things very different.

“I did train as one, but I never officially became one, I was conscripted into the Wardens before that happened. I’ve always been grateful to Duncan for that.” He answered.

“You didn’t want to be a Templar then?” Alim asked, still not certain.

“No not really, funnily enough I never saw the appeal of hunting and killing mages, strange I know.” Alistair added, darting around Alim’s questions with a joke, it seemed to work.

“And here I thought all Templars hated us, I suppose you learn something new every day.” Alim added, more than a little relieved.

“You won me over when you called me handsome, I’m very weak to flattery you know.” Alistair teased, drawing a cherry pink blush from the elf.

“Oh- right! - Sorry about that, it wasn’t very appropriate of me.” Alim stammered out, he’d regretted the compliment as soon as he had said it, not that he didn’t think it were true... but past experience had proved to him how much of a bad idea it was for him to show affection to other men.

“Does that mean you _don’t_ think I am?” Alistair asked with a mock pout.

“What? You know you’re handsome, Alistair.” Alim scolded.

“True, but it doesn’t hurt to hear a lovely elf say that though, beats being bludgeoned by an ogre any day. So, is this the part where I get to say the same?” Alistair asked with a grin, which Alim returned enthusiastically, feeling more certain in where they both stood, made things much easier. And he wasn’t about to be out done.

“Is there any need to state the obvious?”

“I could think of several needs.” Alistair responded with a cock of his brow.

“Oh? You’ll have to tell me more about them later, we do have company after all.”

“Are you hearing this?” Leliana whispered mischievously to Ata, a few feet further ahead of the two smitten boys.

“Unfortunately.” Groaned Ata, who was currently wishing that a group of werewolves would just kill them all already.

“Oh don’t be so grumpy, I think it’s sweet.” Leliana cooed with a grin.

Before Ata could respond, Morrigan appeared before them both.

“I have found the location of the beasts, but it appears some kind of magic is blocking the path. I could not undo it.” She reported back.

“What a pain.” Ata pondered for a moment, “We don’t really have a choice, let’s head to this barrier, perhaps together we can find a way past it.”

They only made it a few steps forward, when the ground began to shake beneath their feet, and giant roots burst from the earth. And like claws they grasped at the unsuspecting travels, Leliana and the two shifters managed to jump out of the way in time, but Alim and Alistair were not as fast and were enveloped into the muddy grasp of the roots. Mutt acted quickly to save her favourite human, diving forward and embedding her teeth into the binds around Alistair, the others followed into the attack managing to free the two men from the tree. With a blaze of flame, they were freed and fell back to the ground, but the forest was not done, before they had a chance to recover the rest of the tree croaked to life and joined the attack.

But the foliage of a tree, no matter how magical, doesn't stand much of a chance against a mage’s fire. The tree quickly fell too charred ash on the ground. But more of the creatures became animated and joined in the attack, the giant oaks loomed over the group, advancing further.

"Thine flames thou will cease, if thou would wish peace. Forgive my kin, grey one, if thou could, a dark curse has been brought to this wood. They feel great unrest within their old taproots; they have learnt fear, at the sound of metal boots." Came a great booming voice, that seemed to shake through their cores, with its command, the trees fell back into place, becoming unmoving once more. "Come forward strangers if you please, you will not be harmed by these trees."

"If that voice is coming from a tree, I’m out of here.” Alim managed to get through past his panting breaths, as his hooded eyes blinked past the spots in his vision, he could feel the bruises purpling his skin already.

“Allow me a moment to welcome thee, I am called the Grand Oak, sometimes the Elder Tree. And unless thou thinks it far too soon, might I ask of thee a boon?” Came the booming voice once more, from the moss coated face of an ancient tree, that stood tall and proud within the circle of Sylvan.

 

 

“And so we’re helping the ancient giant tree, by finding a mad hermit in the middle of the magical forest, to retrieve said tree's _acorn_.” Alim asked aloud to the group he travelled with, who seemed to think this was a perfectly rational thing to do.

“You complain an awful lot.” Ata replied to him.

“I think it’s wonderful, it’s like something from a bard’s tale, I shall have to write songs of our journeys, they are so interesting.” Leliana marvelled, completely entranced by her romantic vision of their travels.

“Please, feel welcome to keep them to yourself.” Morrigan groaned,

"Do you not like tales Morrigan? You seem like the type of woman who loves to lose herself in story, full of danger, magic, romance..." Leliana let her wind chime voice trail off, allowing Morrigan to fill in the rest behind her rolling eyes.

"Lies to entertain the foolish." Morrigan summarised, dismissing the bard.

"You would make quite a good story I would think, the beautiful and mysterious Witch of the Wilds, leaves her home to help the Wardens to stop the blight and save all of Ferelden." Leliana set the scene with a gleeful smile.

"Keep me out of your songs, I'll have nothing to do with it." Morrigan ordered, knowing her wishes would be ignored.

"Perhaps I could change your mind? I shall have to play you a few songs back at camp, I think you'd like what you heard." Leliana offered with a smile, Ata darted her gaze to the witch, to gauge Morrigan's reaction. It took her a moment but eventually the blush reached Morrigan’s cheeks and she scoffed the sister-bard off, but instead of giving a witty retort, she snapped her head forward and her gaze narrowed.

There was a sudden crackle and snap in the air spilling from the clearing just ahead.

“There is very strong magic ahead, I think that may be our hermit.” Morrigan turned to Ata, “You should be careful.”

"Don't draw your weapon yet, we don't know if it's hostile." Alim warned Alistair, who sheepishly tucked his blade away again.

The group stepped lightly as they entered the clearing, their eyes searched the area for any sign of movement, but there was none. All that lay within the open space was an old tree stump, but the magical energy vibrating through the air revealed to them what their eyes could not.  There was a pause, no longer than an exhale of breath before a crack of smoke and lightening flashed before their eyes and their hermit appeared. Either that or he was a very lost very confused looking old man, then he spoke, and it was clear he was both.

“You.. You?” A strikingly bony pale man questioned, as he approached the group, his eyes squinting as though he’d lost his spectacles, trying to understand the odd crowd before him that seemed to be invading _his_ forests. As he peered closer at them, his gaze locked onto Alistair, then his narrow eyes widened tremendously as the pieces all fell into place in his strange little mind. “YOU! HA! I _KNEW_ YOU WOULD FIND ME! BUT YOU WILL NOT HAVE ME - NO SIR!” The hermit cried into the air, as he drew his staff and began brandishing it wildly.

“What are you talking about!?” Alistair squeaked, panic sweating down his face, his eyes darted to his companions for answers.

“OH HO HO YOU CANNOT FOOL ME! NOT WITH YOUR DIRTY TRICKS! I WILL DESTROY YOU! THEN I SHALL RUN AGAIN! NO CIRCLES FOR ME OR TRIANGLES FOR THAT MATTER! ONLY FORESTS!” The hermit was beyond shouting now, and his shriek echoed through the forest, causing a flurry of wings and scattering hooves as the creatures of the wood fled.

“He thinks you’re a Templar.” Morrigan explained smugly, a tiny smile on her lips at the idea of Alistair being attacked by this madman.

“But I’m not!” Alistair cried out to the witch, then her turned quickly back to the hermit. “I promise I’m really not!”

But the hermit would have none of it, his terrified expression slowly turning into a grin as he saw how scared the young man was becoming.

“By the seven- we’re never going to get anywhere with this.” Ata gave an exasperated sigh, then, with a soft wave of her hand, the hermit lost his footing as his mind fell into forced slumber. Leliana was quick to react and caught the small man with ease, needing no assistance in laying him down on the ground.

“Can you teach me how to do that?” Alim asked, crouching as he inspected the sleeping man’s face.

“Uh maybe.” Ata answered quickly before turning to Alistair, “You’ll need to hide before he wakes up, we’re not going to get anything out of him with you here.”

“Yes, right, of course. Sorry. I’ll be…. Over here.” Alistair pointed into the trees before turning and quickly hiding behind some shrubbery, looking very much like a kicked puppy.

“So… now what?” Leliana asked aloud to her mage companions, who now all stood in a circle with her around the unconscious old man.

“He won’t remember the last few minutes or so, hopefully that means he won’t realise we were travelling with a Templar.” Ata explained, but her frown wasn’t convincing. “Then again…. He should be up by now, at least that’s usually how It works.”

“Usually?” Alim asked nervously, “Is he dead?”

“No! No… I mean he’s breathing?” Ata argued but her tone betrayed her uncertainty, she spoke up again when she looked to see the dubious looks on their faces. “I’ve done this spell a thousand times! It almost always works… unless…”

“Unless?” Morrigan pressed.

“Unless he happened to be a type of mage who could counter it?” Ata suggested when confronted with Morrigan’s scepticism. “But I mean, he wouldn’t be, not down south…?”

“He’s a blood mage.” Morrigan answered Ata’s rhetorical questions with an unimpressed sigh.

“Probably.” Ata greed with a nod.

“Which means the spell did not work.” Morrigan added.

“Most likely.”

“Therefor he has been awake this entire time and is likely waiting for an opportune time to strike, either that or – taking into consideration that I have not heard Alistair’s annoying voice for over a minute- he has already acted, the body before us is an illusion and he has taken the fool 'not-Templar' to kill him.” Morrigan concluded, oblivious to Leliana and Alim’s expressions that only seemed to intensify with horror at every word she spoke.

“That does seem to be the case, yes.” Ata concurred calmly, before grabbing her spear and poking the body gently, as soon as it made contact the body crumbled back into the mud it’d been made from. Ata noticed the acorn they had been looking for was sat in the sculpture’s chest, she dug it out and held it between her thumb and for finger, she pondered over it for a moment before coming to her conclusion: “Alistair is fucked.”

Mutt was a one beast stampede as she stormed through the forest in the shape of a drasolisk, with Alim and Leliana grasping tight as they rode on her back in search for their kidnapped companion. Ata and Morrigan flew ahead and above the trees, watching for any sign of the hermit or Alistair, but only managing to catch glimpses of magical energy and flashes of smoke. But it all seemed to be leading to one place, the ancient temple in the centre, the ruin in which the werewolves resided.

Ata’s eyes were far faster and stronger in this form, and she managed to catch a glimpse of the hermit before he was engulfed within the barrier that protected the beasts and their layer. She dove down and stood before it in her natural form, and as she did so, she felt the acorn in her pocket begin to shimmer and thrum in unison with the magical wall.

Morrigan landed by her side just moments before the others arrived, in time to watch as Ata held the acorn up to the grey smoke that shrouded the forest before them, and as she did its vibrations increased, until it was pressed into the smoke and it cleared, creating an archway for the rescue team.

Hesitantly, Ata moved forward into the entrance, the power of the forest was at its strongest here and made her feel even more of an unwanted guest than it did before. The trees were taller here; their leaves and branches thicker, blocking out what little was left of the sun. The last rain still lingered in the air, leaving it damp and dense and rotten, but the darkness wasn’t all that left Ata unsettled. It was the eyes, a thousand eyes all watching her, eyes that felt foreign yet so familiar…

Ata shook the unnerving thoughts from her mind and continued her march forward.

“Stick together, the wolves will likely stick to the shadows and try to flank us. Don’t let them.” Ata instructed her allies as they moved together watching for any sign of Alistair.

It didn’t take long.

“Will you listen to me? I’m not a Templar! I mean- I was- but I’m not now! I don’t mean you any harm! Please let me- OW!” Alistair protests sliced through the trees, and the others charged forward to the clearing from where his cries came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im so sorry this took so long! i've been so busy lately that it's been difficult to find the time to write, but the chapter is finally done and out, and I am excited for the Brecilian section to end! 
> 
> Update- I've made a blog on tumblr for q&s and updates about this series and the lore series that accompanies it, so if you're interested you can follow it at - theuntoldtaleofthedragonage.tumblr.com


	17. Nature of the Beast

** Nature of the Beast **

 

“Will you listen to me? I’m not a Templar! I mean- I was- but I’m not now! I don’t mean you any harm! Please let me- OW!” Alistair protests echoed through the trees, the others launched forward into the clearing, where the old man stood grasping Alistair by the throat and screaming at the young man, the hermit was so caught up in his mad rage he didn’t notice Alistair’s rescuers or the werewolves looming in the shadow.

“Let him go!” Ata commanded the old man, his head turned to her, his mad eyes focusing on her for just a second, before they seemed to slip again. “There is still a chance for us to resolve this peacefully, let him go.”

“THEY WON’T TAKE ME BACK.” He cried, fear shaking him back to his core. “NO CIRCLES FOR ME! NORE SQUARES OR TRIANGLES! I WON’T GO!” He rose his hand in the air and with it the air around him crackled with energy, Ata new what he would do next and did not hesitate. Before he could strike Alistair down she pulled her spear from her back and launched it forward, impaling the ancient mage, his pale knuckles loosened their grip on the quaking boy as he collapsed to the ground.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught glimpses of the shadows that had been watching them; the wolves were retreating, they had no time to recover, they needed to finish their business before the sunset.

“Thank you.” Alistair gasped as he pulled himself to his feet uneasily. It took a moment for Ata to realise he had spoken to her.

“Oh- Of course, we can hardly afford to lose anymore wardens, can we?” Ata dismissed, he seemed to flinch at her words, then replied:

“No, of course.”

“We’re nearly there now, ready yourselves, they will not give up their leader easily.” Ata readied them before they finally made their way into the ancient ruins.

The design was clearly of Elvhen origin; it’s soft arches with curling designs long since faded into the rough surface of the rock, combined with the great statues of wolves guarding the entrance gave it away. What remained of the crumbling towers were mostly roots and earth now, with great trees bursting from the ground and through the collapsed ceilings.

Alim couldn’t help but wonder what could have once lived there, what _his_ people built would have looked like before the humans destroyed it all. Walking through the hollowed hallways of the once great tomb, made him finally understand why the Dalish were so hostile to humans; if he had grown up surrounded with the memories of what his people had once been…what they _could_ have had. If the humans had not taken it from them. If the empire still stood, if the humans didn’t rule, what would he have been? Not a captive of the circle, feared and hated for his magic, but just like everyone else, like every elf. Maybe he could have stayed with his father, known who his mother was, would they have been simple farmers? Maybe merchants, or nobility.

If Alim were left to wonder like that, surrounded by what could have been, he would have been filled with just as much resentment, perhaps more.

Alim’s pondering was interrupted as they ventured further down into the ruins, with a voice, a quiet whisper that seemed to echo through him.

“Did you hear that?” He asked aloud to the others, but they only seemed confused by his questioning, it came again, louder as they travelled further down. “Surely you must have heard that?”

“What’s it saying?” Leliana asked further, stopping in her tracks.

“I- I don’t know, it’s asking for help, I think?” Alim answered uncertainly, but then he heard it again, this time it was clear. A voice asking for help, he could feel it getting stronger, he quickly gestured for the others to follow before running ahead. Charging through the cobwebbed abandoned tunnels, past winged statues and chipped mosaics of green and gold, he didn’t stop running until they reached a small room, it must have once held books or tomes if the rotten smell of damp parchment was anything to go by. The whisper was strong now, almost deafening as it drummed into his mind, he fell to his knees and dug through a pile of debris until he found it.

“A phylactery?” Ata questioned confused, “The ancient elves didn’t practice blood magic, did they?” She turned to Morrigan with the question.

“And how should I know?” She shrugged, “But this seems far more than just a vile of blood, it feels though a soul is tide to it, be cautious.”

But Alim paid no mind to her warnings, he stroked his fingers across the vile, somehow warm to the touch, as though it was freshly spilt. His eyes locked onto the old blood inside, still bright crimson after all this time, no dust seemed to have settled upon it. Then the whisper came again, but not a whisper this time, images. He saw Elvhen, but they were running, along with humans, Qunari, dwarf, a war? He watched an elf, young and terrified spill their blood with another, into the vile to keep them safe and sealed away. But as time had passed the other had faded leaving only them; alone and afraid.

“You wish me to free you?” Alim asked. The spirit shimmered with joy, then something else, more images of the elf, fighting with both magic and blade; an offering in return for his aid.

“I hope you find peace.” He spoke softly before cracking the vile against the floor, he felt a sudden surge of power so quick he fell back onto the ground as the spirit seeped away.

“What did you just do?” Ata asked while the others stood wary.

“It was a spirit. No-.” He shook his head.” -more of a ghost or wisp, an elf had trapped themselves in the phylactery to keep safe with their lover, but their lover moved on. They just wanted to die.” Alim spoke solemnly, he eyes watching the blood spilled onto his hands evaporate into nothing. “It gave me something in return, magic, sort of. I’ve heard of it before, it looked something like the knight enchanters that the chantry uses as guards, but different?” 

“You made a deal with a spirit? A demon?” Alistair asked, his Templar training filling his mind with all kinds of horrors.

“You know what? We do not have the time for this, if Alim’s an abomination, we’ll deal with it later. Werewolves first- possible possession later. Alright?” Ata didn’t wait for an answer before leaving the room and heading deeper into the heart of ruin.

“I’m not possessed, and it wasn’t a demon, don’t think so little of me. Or any mage for that matter.” Alim said sternly, annoyed by Alistair’s nervous glances once it was just the two of them left.

“You’re right- I- I’m sorry just-“ Alistair looked away embarrassed. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Let’s go.” Alim dismissed, before moving on to catch up with the others.

It wasn’t until they’d reached the very heart of the ruins that they finally encountered the werewolves, Ata quickly drew her spear as they approached, but they did not attack. The largest of the beasts instead, came forward standing on its hind legs so that it towered over them all at a grand height. Its face curled into a permanent snarl, spit and bile dripping from its massive fangs, its black eyes peering at her, focusing on the blade of her weapon, then onto Alim.

“The Dalish have returned with mercenaries to do their bidding.” It snarled, it’s beady bloodied eyes narrowing onto him, he shuffled backwards and reached for his staff, Alistair quickly pulled out his shield and moved between the beasts sneer and Alim.

“I’m not Dalish, and we are no mercenaries.” Alim argued, trying to hide his fear, but the monster could smell it and it grinned with pleasure.

“It makes no difference; one dead elf is as good as another.” It snarled at him, snapping its jaw open as it spat the words awkwardly from its lipless mouth.

“There will be no more dead elves by you creatures.” Ata interrupted, snapping the creature’s attention back to her, for which Alim was grateful, though still on edge. “You’re not attacking us, why?”

“Our lady Witherfang wishes a negotiation.” The beast did not wait for her reply, before turning its hunched back to her and pounding back into the ruins, leaving them with no option but to follow.

They were lead into an open room that looked as though it could have once held ceremonies, with walls reaching to the open sky carved with intricate patterns and painting that must have once bloomed with colour, but now were faded and dull with dust and moss.

“Travellers,” A woman’s voice greeted them, “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, I am Witherfang.”

 

Lyna tried to fight the pit of guilt in her stomach, though she was doing nothing wrong, she couldn’t help the feeling that she was betraying her people. All she was doing was watching the Keeper, suspicion wasn’t a crime, was it? All her life she had been told to trust in the Keepers, they are the shepherds of the Dalish, and they would not lead them astray, and yet… Here Zathrian was, leaving his people to head deep in the infested forest alone when they needed him most.

Lyna watched carefully as he submerged himself into the trees, she waited a moment, then another, before following him. Zathrian was cautious, it was clear he did not wish to be followed, he left little trace of where he had been; stepping in the foot prints of the animals that came before him, and moving with such grace that he did not disturb the creatures of the forest. But Lyna was a good hunter, there was no game she could not track, and he would be no exception.

She wasn’t surprised to find that he was heading to what she could only assume was the werewolves layer, if the stench of dog hide was anything to go by.

It was an old temple, one for Falon’Din she guessed from the markings outside, but she was no keeper, history was not her expertise. Merrill would know better, she thought briefly.

The others must have passed already; there were no beasts guarding the entrance as Zathrian stepped past the Fen’Harel carvings protecting the tomb. Lyna followed through a moment later to find him standing in the centre of a great hall, perhaps once used for rituals. There was a grand circle of raised ground below his feet, carved to the shape of a budding flower, with a stream of water flowing through the crevices to meet in the centre.

“Your clan must have been very disappointed to lose such a fine hunter, Da’len.” Zathrian spoke aloud, before turning to face her, a patient smile softened his features. Lyna stood a moment, uncertain how to proceed, she was sure she’d been silent through the forest, he couldn’t have seen her, there was no way. “Do not look so guilty, Da’len. You did the right thing, it is the clans duty to make sure the Keeper does what is best by his people. But you should not have come through the woods alone.”

“Why are you here, Haren?” Lyna passed the questioning back to him, but she was much more at ease as she approached him to speak.

“I have not been completely honest with your companions, they are not Dalish and so I felt I could not trust them, they would not understand. But you, I realise I should have told you, you are one of the people.” Zathrian said with a heavy sigh, “There was once an elf, a young man with a family. Two children, a little boy and girl, he loved his children more than anything in this world, until they were stolen from him, by a human tribe. They slaughtered the clan of Dalish, killing the men and taking the women, they were abused for weeks, raped and tortured. Even the children, even my little girl.”

“Ir abelas haren.” Lyna spoke, “Human depravity knows no bounds.” She knew it wasn’t enough, no words would ever be enough to heal the tears left when a loved one is taken from you. “I lost my parents to a human tribe, I know your pain.”

“Thank you, Da’len, your words are kind.” Zathrian paused before continuing, “I was overtaken by my rage, I wished to exact a vengeance upon them that would give even Elgar’nan himself pause. I knew it wouldn’t be enough, nothing could ever return my children to me, or undo what they did to my daughter and my clan. But I could not let those monsters go, and so I called upon a spirit, and I bound it to a wolf and unleashed it onto the tribe of humans. But it did not kill them, instead it infected them, I wanted them to become the monsters they seemed so desperate to be. This is why they attack us, they wish me to end the curse, to free them. But I will not, I seek only to cure my clan and leave these forests and the blight behind.”

Lyna took a deep breath as she tried to understand, there was a deafening silence before she opened her mouth to reply.

“Maherial?” Atakan asked, interrupting the conversation, her eyes curious and questioning. “Keeper, what are you doing here?”

“Isn’t obvious?” Morrigan asked with an accusation in her glare, as she met the Keepers eyes.

“You do not have the heart yet?” It wasn’t a question.

“No. We spoke to Witherfang, you have not told us everything Zathrian, you should have told us of your ties to the curse before.” Ata spoke, her tone neutral and her gaze icy as she judged the Keeper’s reaction.

“Does it matter? You know of these creatures crimes, you know they deserve no mercy. This is justice.” Zathrian said with determination, a fire in him to match Ata’s cold demeanour. 

“Those werewolves are not the same humans who slaughtered your clan, they are newly infected humans, the ones who deserved their fate are long dead. But the curse lives on creating new werewolves, who continue the cycle of violence that has now come back and killed your clan all over again. Do not speak of justice to me -  when you allow this to continue only to extend your own life.” Though Ata did not raise her voice, her words stuck him as if she had.

“How dare you! You think I would let my clan come to harm out of a mad desire for power? For immortality? Do no mistake me for you, blood mage!” Zathrian spat back at her, but she did not flinch, she recognised what was causing his rage, and it was not vengeance, not anymore, but fear. A fear of the unknown laid before him, of living so long and holding so much power, to be now faced with losing it all. The fear of death. Such fear was more dangerous and savage than any cursed creature. She’d seen it before in what felt like another life, she would make sure this ended differently.

“I know you are afraid Zathrian, but you are endangering your clan and any other Dalish who may pass through this forest. If the curse continues more innocents will die, let this chapter come to an end, Keeper. Aren’t you tired?” Ata’s tone was softer now, an offer of redemption, a chance to make things right. Zathrian paused, his face collapsing from his anger into sorrow, he glanced to the hunter by his side. The young Dalish simply placed her hand upon his arm and nodded her head gently.

“Na melana sahlin haren.”

 

There was a grumble of snarls and growls as Zathrian entered the chamber, but he remained undeterred, his early demeaner had returned, he was calm and he was ready.

“Thank you, Zathrian. Thank you for letting me rest at last.” The Lady of the Forest spoke, a smile gracing her lips as she took his hand.

 

Once the ritual was completed the werewolves- now humans- stood before them, but before they could open their mouths to thank the Grey Wardens, Ata spoke.

“There is a clearing south of here were the old hermit once camped, do you know it?”

“Y-yes we do.” A pale man spoke, his green eyes squinting to see her, his sight was fine by human standards, but blind in comparison to the range that had lane before him as a wolf.

“Take the rest of your group there, wait for us to return and we will take you out of the forest and to a human settlement.” Ata ordered him.

“Oh- thank you, that is very kind, we shall see you there. Thank you again, thank you so much.” He stuttered out before running from the ruins with the rest of the humans.

Alistair and Ata quickly wrapped Zathrian’s body in cloth, then lifted him out of the ruins together, he was a small man and so between the two of them he was not difficult to carry.

“And so that’s it? The humans are cured and you just let them go? Help them back to civilization even? After all they’ve done?” Lyna asked as they made their way through the forest.

“They were not the same humans who did those awful things to the Keeper’s children.” Leliana answered, her tone meagre and quiet as she thought of what had happened to the girl and her brother, she had heard that the Dalish could be attacked by human tribes, but never had she thought something so wicked and vile could happen. And yet the chantry had made it seem as though the Dalish could be just as bad, she knew now that was not true. This was a one sided crime.

“But these werewolves still attacked the clan, you saw the sick and the injured at the camp, not all wounds will be healed by this. Many lives were still lost, _Dalish_ lives.” Lyna argued, her frustration bubbling in her chest like fire, but her anger was met with silence from the rest of the group.

 

It was nightfall when the reached the camp, they passed the body to their hunters and stood in silence as they watched the Dalish bury their Keeper. A few words in elvhen were spoken and then they began preparations for the night to come. Their healers would work tirelessly through the night on those who were injured, and what remained of their hunters would begin their watch as the clan tried to heal.

The clan offered to allow the Wardens to rest near their camp, they gratefully accepted and were quick to fall into their bedrolls, though sleep did not come easy despite their exhaustion. The things they had seen, as well as the threat of more bone-chilling nightmares, left most of them restless. 

Ata, like most nights, did not attempt to sleep. Instead she patrolled the camps with Mutt, the hound jumped playfully at her side as she kicked over the dry and dusted mud, even though she was a fair way off from the Dalish infirmary, she could still hear the cries of the injured. Zathrian’s and Witherfangs death had ended the curse, but the wounds and ruptures left by the werewolves still lingered, torturing those who remained alive.

Ata knew that many of the injured would not make it through the night, and even those who did, would not have much to live for. They would fight for days and nights on end, to recover and find that half of the people they had loved as family had been lost. This was supposed to be a happy ending, a conclusion to the horrors that had passed over the last few months, a victory for Wardens, but this was far from the truth. The Dalish would survive but they would never forget what they witnessed, or the loved ones they had lost, Ata doubted they even had enough hunters to spare for the fight against the darkspawn to come.

As Ata neared the edge of the clearing, she felt a hum in her pocket, she reached her hand in to find the acorn she had taken from the hermit. She’d completely forgotten about it until that moment, she supposed she should return it, she wasn’t going to sleep and there was no need for her to guard. And so she launched into the air as a hawk once more and flew the short distance over the tress to the Grand Oak.

The forest was louder now, she could hear the creatures of woods celebrating their freedom from the monsters that had plagued them for long, they were bolder now calling out into the darkness with joy. The Grand Oak stirred as she approached him with his acorn, his strange hollow eyes seemed to expel hope and excitement in the oddest of ways.

“Please don’t speak, sorry but your rhyming creeps me out a bit. Here.” Ata stopped him before he could begin and held out her palm with the acorn for him. His long wooden fingers scraped across her hand lightly as he collected his seed, a smile upon his lips.

“Thank you.” He simply said, with not rhyming couplet to pair it with. Ata smiled gratefully, somewhat touched that the ancient being talking normally just for her.

When Ata returned she found Lyna stood alone over Zathrian's fresh grave, staring at the mud weighted atop his cold body, Lyna wondered about the humans sitting in their camp that night. Where they ashamed? That they would soon be free of this forest, that they would return to their homes safe in their houses, a roof over their head and a full belly every night, with the full knowledge that they had wiped out half a clan of Dalish innocents? Whilst the other half would have to mourn for their loved ones on borrowed land, before they are chased away by more humans? She hoped they were, and for her sanity she had to believe it. 

"I'm sorry." Ata's voice called softly from behind her. 

"He needed to die, I don't mourn him, I might've if her were my Keeper." Lyna replied without looking up from the grave maker before her. 

"I don't mean about Zathrian." Lyna did turn around to those words, mild curiosity crunching her brow. "I'm sorry for not talking with you, or the clan about what should happen to the humans. It wasn't my decision to make, and yet I made it anyway. I'm sorry."

Lyna looked up to her, blatant surprise leaving her face and mind blank. 

"I think this is the first time anyone's ever apologised to the Dalish before." Lyna joked wryly, though she wasn't far from the truth.

"It's very sad how right you are, perhaps we can make this right?" Ata began, she seemed uncertain in her footing, a different woman from the one who had confronted Zathrian before, who she'd seen fight at Ostagar, and yet the same. She held a certain pride in herself, in the way she spoke, yet it was still humble somehow. It reminded her of the Dalish in some ways, a people who had come from nothing and reclaimed so much and yet so little, proud of how far they'd come but still knowing there was more to learn, that there was always room to grow. "I would like to tell the First of everything that has happened, and then leave the decision to her and her clan on how to proceed, and aid them in whatever way they need. The humans are camped where I told them, they'll probably be there until morning, so the clan will have the night to decide. What do you think?"

Lyna stared at Ata for a moment, left with more questions than answers, which is usually how their conversations would go. But she knew what she wanted to happen, what needed to happen, a life for a life seemed an adequate payment. The humans didn't deserve a happy ending after the pain they had caused, the lives they had stolen. And she knew no human lands would punish them, not for killing elves.

They spoke with the first that same night, they told her everything they knew of Zathrian and his curse, they explained why the werewolves had attacked, and that they were now cured and wished to return to human lands. The First listened in silence, her hands clasped behind her back as she met Lyna's gaze, taking it all in - she wasn't surprised by most of the tale; she was no fool and she had begun to see how her Keeper had slipped over the months in the forest.  

"Lyna," She finally spoke once the tale was told, "When you met the wolves, did they seem guilty? Did they feel shame for their deeds? Did they feel sorrow?"

"Honestly, Keeper, I don't know, I did not speak with them, I was only there for the ritual. Ata may be able to tell you." Lyna replied, turning her head to Ata. 

Ata did not pause before replying- she had known the answer before she was even asked. 

"When we reached the ruins, they thought Alim was Dalish, when he told them he was not, they replied: 'One dead elf is as good as another'. These are not the words of a sorry man, Keeper." Ata answered.

"Very well." The Keeper nodded solemnly, she took a breath to steady herself before reaching her decision. "I wish this were not my first decision as Keeper, but justice needs to be claimed; we lost many good men and women to these beasts, children even. Blood must be paid in blood if we are to have any justice at all. I will speak to my hunters, they will join you tonight, and the humans will answer for their crimes."

It didn't take long for the elves to ready themselves, they had waited for a chance to put an end to the creatures that had taken their loved ones from them , mothers, brothers, children. All of them would have justice that night. 

Ata led a group of hunters, along with Leliana, Natia and Morrigan, they moved in stealth to make the execution as quick as possible. The old hermit's camp wasn't far once they knew where to go, before long, a ring of hunters encircled the sleeping camp of humans, all waiting for the signal. Ata felt a shiver down her spine as she looked around the clearing to see a dozen pair of elven eyes glowing in the darkness, the camp was mostly quiet save for two who they had put on guard. 

They were the first to die, they went quickly with the slip of two daggers, one for each throat. 

The rest did not go as quietly. 

The green eyed man screamed in horror as he watched the bodies fall to the ground, the camp scrambled awake as the humans fought past each other to escape. But elven eyes were sharp in the night time, and their arrows would not fail. 

The humans cried out and begged for mercy, as they finally knew what it was to fear for their lives- to be hunted in the night by an unknown creature driven by vengeance. The elves would show no more mercy than their lost brothers and sisters and been given, their hearts steadied by the hand of Mythal as they finally knew what it felt to be granted justice, it was cold and it was bitter, but it was right. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a lot longer than I planned but I wanted to get the nature of the beast quest over with so i decided to put it all into one.  
> For those who don't know, my laptop broke and I had to save to get a new one for a couple of months, which is why this chapter took so long to get out. Hopefully I'll get back into a good pattern of releasing new chapters from now on. 
> 
> The reason I decided to go this route for this story line, is because i couldn't imagine my characters going with any of the ingame choices provided, and I think im likely to do this for most of the arcs. Ata is a very complicated person, she very much believes in justice and fairness, but she isn't always sure what is just or fair, especially in the south were the politics are very different from where she grew up and has lived. And so she will usually bring new perspictives to the table that aren't usually brought to the table in the dragon age games, which I'm excited to explore. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, i hope you enjoyed.


	18. The Forty Fifth Night

The Forty Fifth Night - Chapter 18

 

On the forty fifth night since the Battle of Ostagar- The Outskirts of the Brecillian Forest

 

“Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.” Leliana chanted quietly to herself as she walked a little ways behind the rest of their party, Ata slowed her pace to meet the sister-bard’s.

“Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. With their blood, the Maker’s will shall be written.” Ata spoke, pulling Leliana out of her meditation. “You’re struggling with what we did last night?” Leliana looked away from Ata and into the woods around them, they were far louder now than when they had entered, the oppressive magic that had once suffocated Ata as she entered had levitated slightly, making the track out much less daunting.

“We took the lives of many men last night, murderers. We delivered justice, but it was still murder.” Leliana said before pausing, “Andraste once committed similar deeds though, no? She was a warrior and her hands would have most certainly not been left clean as she fought against the Imperium. But I cannot help but feel as though we denied those men redemption, if we had shown mercy…. Perhaps they would have left the world a better place, if given the chance.”

“Like you, you mean?” Ata prompted.

“What do you mean?” Leliana asked her eyes wide, much like a lambs.

“You were once of a… different path? One that you left behind? Why else would an Orleasian with a love of stories, and such skill with a bow and daggers, be in Ferelden, if not to leave a life behind?” Ata asked, Leliana looked away again.

“It seems my secrets have been exposed,” She laughed slightly, “I was a bard in Orlais, before I left. I found redemption in Ferelden, in the Chantry, in travelling with you. Why should those men not have the same chance?”

“My people do not have a chant of light as yours do, we do not have a list of great sins that our God forbids us from. We have simply one – ‘Do not take what cannot be returned, do not destroy what cannot be remade, do not leave the world a harsher place then when you entered it.’ Those men committed every one of those crimes, they did so without remorse or second thought, how could they seek redemption, when they did not feel they needed it? You received a second chance because you _sought_ one, you felt guilt and shame and so you work to make it right. They did not, they only wished to be free of their own burdens, they didn’t care about the elves or their lives.”

“You are from Tevinter, correct?” Leliana asked after a long pause. It was Ata’s turn to look surprised. “The chant in Tevinter and the South is different, you quoted the Tevinter version, also your accent… it is a  fairly big giveaway.” Leliana smiled kindly in response, “Being from such as place, and to not be human, you must have seen the very worst of humans. Do you think there is a chance for them? To make up for the crimes their nation commits?”

“I don’t know, I don’t like to think about it.” Ata answered quickly, not allowing herself to consider it. “What can you tell me about Andraste? Before she was made a prophet?” Ata asked with fake curiosity, she didn’t care about the human God or his bride, but she wished a distraction before her thoughts fell back into the country in which she was born. Instead she let Leliana’s soft voice fade to white noise in the background as she thought over what she had told her.

_Do not take what cannot be returned, do not destroy what cannot be remade, do not leave the world a harsher place then when you entered it._

That is the tenant she had been taught from the day she awoke in the Anderfels, the single law that all Kossith would be judged by as they passed to the void. The most important lesson given to her people by their Gods, to not bring damage to the world that cannot be healed, one way or another. It was why her people would not kill to eat within their city’s walls, because they did not need to. Things would have been different, had once been different, when they had lived as the Dalish do, unable to settle on their own land to grow food and forced to hunt to survive. In killing the animal, they save the lives of those who need to be fed, they take a life to return to their people.

The werewolves did not follow such a rule, they did not need to kill and yet they did, to satiate their vengeance and rage. But is that not what Ata had just helped the Dalish do?

Was she truly saving lives by stopping the wolves? Was it justice to take their lives? What had she returned to the world in exchange for their deaths?

Lyna seemed to have found a peace in their actions, as had the clan, there was a serenity to the Dalish tribe as they cleaned their daggers and mended their wounds the morning before the group had left. They still mourned, no amount of blood would fill the void, left by the ones who were taken from them, but through their sorrow there seemed an acceptance. The blood had been returned and those who had harmed the Dalish had paid the price, for the first time in millennia they had taken justice from those who wronged them.

Was that enough? Ata wondered to herself. This was not the first time she had killed, she had been a soldier before she was a Warden, in Sehron. She had fought with the fog warriors, they were assassins in a way, unleashing a fog upon the Qunari, Tevinter or sometimes Sehron’s own military, then descending into the mist and slaughtering any in the uniform of the enemy. But that had always been in defence, stopping those who they knew would go on to kill the natives, or her friends, or even her. This was the first time she had attacked, this was the first time she had killed men who she believed would never have killed again.

Perhaps her Gods had it wrong, perhaps sometimes things did need to be destroyed, or to be taken without return. Those humans didn’t deserve a second chance, not when they had taken so much, their lives were forfeit.

Ata decided she didn’t give a shit if her Gods would disapprove.

Ata knew she would die soon, Duncan had told her how a blight was ended; with the life of a Grey Warden. As the senior Warden, it was her duty to be the one who cast the final blow. If her end was nearing, she was going to make sure to right as many wrongs as she could in the meantime, she knew as well as anyone that no people were as wronged as the elves. She would remember that when faced with Micoa, the God of death, at the gates of the void. When her eyes turned upon Ata for judgement, she would hold onto the justice she helped carryout and she would feel no guilt or shame. If that meant eternity in the void, so be it.

The Wardens and their allies would head to Redcliffe next, at Alistair’s insistence, it would be a few days of travel before they reached the confounds of the village. They made camp shortly after exiting the forest, glad to be rid of the shadows the surrounding trees had cast, leaving them far too easily flanked.

That night they settled by one of the many streams that meandered from the Drakon river, after a big meal and a surprisingly quick negotiation over sleeping arrangements- they had only three tents, four if they included Morrigan’s (which they did not), Lyna and Naita had been sharing, as had Alim and Leliana, Sten and Alistair were supposed to share, but usually one of them would opt to sleep outside instead. Ata was used to sleeping without a tent and often preferred it, which would be fine in the summer, but would soon become an issue in the coming months. That night however, Natia announced that she and Sten would now be sharing, which left just about everyone, aside from Lyna who seemed somewhat amused, with a mix of shock and horror. Leaving Lyna on her own, who suggested that she and Leliana shared instead, meaning Alistair was left a blushing mess as he insisted on sleeping outside still.

Alim seemed only a little disappointed as he got to enjoy the privilege of having a whole tent to himself.

Once the negotiations where over, Ata and Morrigan took first watch, which usually meant them sitting outside Morrigan’s tent talking.

“That cannot be true! Why in the world would she do that? You tell me in your people’s stories, the daughter of a God was offered to ascend to divinity, achieving immortality and unfathomable power. But instead chose to _stay_ a powerless mortal for her lover? Tis childish indeed!” Morrigan scoffed at the idea, Ata snorted out a laugh at Morrigan’s absolute outrage at the idea. “Do not laugh! I am serious.” Morrigan argued but could not hold back her own smile.

“I’m terribly sorry.” Ata said as she tried to rein in her spouts of laughter. “You are absolutely right, how childish of her to choose the woman she loved over Godhood.”

“Exactly!” Morrigan shouted triumphantly, pulling another giggle from Ata, “No but listen to my reasoning! Her mother told her that she could be the most powerful God of them all, yes? Why not simply ascend to godhood, _defeat_ the others and take their power from them? That way she could make her lover a God as well, then she would have both!” Morrigan finished with another triumphant yell and nod of her head.

“Who knows? Maybe she did? Maybe she became the Maker and her lover was Andraste! Maybe it’s all connected?” Ata added with a gasp, “Or! They’re just stories and you are thinking way too much into it.” She finished with a sip of her liquor.

“Still, my idea was far better than hers.” Morrigan concluded, Ata couldn’t help but let out another snort of laughter.

“Which is why I am very grateful that your mother isn’t a God.” Ata answered.

“Not from a lack of trying I assure you.” Morrigan added, “But let’s not bring up her, tell me about the other Gods, who are they?”

Ata let out a sigh as she gathered her thoughts, began listing the names off on her fingers.

“There is Micoa, she is the God of Death and the end of all things. Kirina, she is the God of Life, then there is Kadai, the God of Freedom -the daughter of Kirina- and Tarana the God of Unity. There is Varocos the God of the Sun, and Luroma the God of the Moon- those two are lovers. Then there is Vanara the God of Knowledge, she and Luroma are twins.” Ata explained.

“All your Gods are women?” Morrigan asked. Ata nodded. “Then how could Kirina and Micoa have children? And how could Kirina have a mortal child with a woman?”

 “Well, they are Gods, and the creators of all life so…. Magic?” Ata answered with a bemused smile.

“Your cleverness and wit truly are something to behold.” Morrigan said with a rather impressive eye roll. “Tis… interesting, that those who left the Qun would create a religion that contrasts so greatly from the order?” Morrigan carried hesitant wonder in her tone, not sure what she could believe but still wanting to know more.

“There are peoples that have existed separate from the Qunari for a very long time, before the Qun was even created.” Ata explained, “Those are the people I lived with once I escaped Tevinter.”

“Truly? Odd that I have never heard of them, from Mother or the humans villages I have seen.” Morrigan queried, questioning and curios.

“They keep to themselves, far to the north west, they have existed long before Thedas and they will exist long after it is gone. We have worked hard to make sure no one can harm us again.”  Ata seemed distant as she spoke, as though she were repeating a mantra, one that she had heard and spoken a hundred times over. Ata smiled as she remembered the home she had found fondly, her eyes soft and her tone faraway. “We have a city, not like Denerim or Minrathoes, it’s massive, truly gigantic. Hidden away in the mountains, in the far north of the Anderfels, with walls so tall and strong that they cannot be climbed or broken, with magic seeped deep into the rock. They say only those who have been there before can find it.” Ata explained.

“How did you find it?” Morrigan asked.

Ata paused at the question, cursing herself, she had once thought herself quite good at keeping secrets. But clearly the mix of alcohol and Morrigan’s company was all it took for her to spill her guts. Telling her tales of her Gods and history were harmless, mostly, but to tell any outsider of the city was stupid beyond belief, she had killed men for knowing less about her people, and the here she was telling Morrigan all she wished to know. Ata would at least keep somethings secret, as she had promised, and how she reached the City was certainly the one most worth keeping. She put down her bottle and rose to her feet.

“We should at least pretend we’re patrolling the parameters or the camp, we don’t need more of Sten’s lectures on how bad we are at guarding.” Ata gestured before walking away from Morrigan’s small camp fire, half expecting her to stay seated. But instead Morrigan followed her, and then the two were walking side by side, pretending to guard.

“Do you believe in your Gods? That the tales are true?” Morrigan asked. Ata shrugged, trying to keep her big mouth closed. “I heard your conversation with Leliana earlier, you spoke of religion, I was just wondering what you believe.”

“Eavesdropping, were we?” Ata teased, “Do you often stalk my conversations?”

“Don’t be preposterous.” Morrigan scoffed and, to Ata’s surprise, she was blushing. “But you two have been… close recently, t’would lead anyone to curiosity.” Morrigan spoke very quickly as she explained away her eavesdropping. Ata burst out into laughter once more. “What? Why are you laughing at me?”

“You’re very cute.” Ata said with a large unashamed smile, “But you needn’t worry, Leliana and I are just friends.” Morrigan seemed surprised by Ata’s words, then a dangerously flirtatious smile climbed her lips.

“Why would I worry? Are we something other than friends?” Morrigan stopped walking as she spoke, Ata hadn’t realised that they had now circled back to Morrigan’s tent once more. It was Ata’s turn to blush.

“I – um.” Ata stuttered, her eyes meeting Morrigan’s briefly before sifting away again. Where they? Ata asked herself, where they even friends? Ata enjoyed Morrigan’s company a great deal, she always had when they had met by chance all those years ago. Then again only recently, before Ata had joined the Wardens, she had travelled south to Gwaren for information. Without thought she had headed south from the town into wilder lands, and there Morrigan had been, the Witch of the Wilds popping into her life again after all those years. Their time together that day had been brief, Ata couldn’t remember what they had talked about that evening, but she did remember how disappointed she had been when sunset came and they had to part once more. She also remembered the kiss they had shared.

Neither had mentioned it since they were reunited once more, but both of them had been thinking about it.  Especially then, in that moment, just a breath away from one another wondering just exactly what they were.

 _Fuck it_.

Ata leant in only an inch before Morrigan reached up and pulled her in, and their lips met once more. Ata felt her arms wrap around Morrigan’s waist, a hand slipping up her back, as one of Morrigan’s hand found itself upon the tattoos on Ata’s arm, making its way to her chest.

Ata let out a slight gasp as Morrigan’s hand reached under her shirt, her sunset skin a stark contrast to Ata’s night sky. Her touch was firm and clumsy, even so she pulled goose bumps form Ata’s trembling frame.

Ata brought her hands to Morrigan’s hips, but rather than pull her closer, as she so desperately wanted to, she pushed her away.

“We shouldn’t.” Ata whispered breathlessly.

“You started it.” Morrigan teased with a smile, her lips parted and her breath heavy. “Come, we can regret our decisions tomorrow.” Morrigan coaxed, her fingers grasping Ata’s lightly, pulling her closer to her tent.

That was all the persuasion she needed, she moved closer again and took Morrigan into another kiss, before ducking under the tarp into the warmth of the tent. The inside smelt almost overwhelmingly of Morrigan; like a meadow after a night of rain, of herbs crushed and mixed with wild flowers.

They knelt before each other, tugging at the flimsy cloth that kept their flesh apart. Morrigan was quick to pull off Ata’s shirt, revealing more of the markings she’d been so curious about, she traced her finger along them and then her lips followed. Pulling a moan from Ata, who in turn made an effort to take off Morrigan’s clothes, which proved far more challenging than anticipated.

“Why do you have so many damned belts?” Ata gasped as she tried to figure out the strange outfit. Morrigan chuckled against her skin.

“To make you work for it.” She teased, before leaning back and undoing a single belt on her side, which let the whole thing fall from her and pool around her hips. Ata finished the rest of the job, laying Morrigan down as she pulled off her clothes, leaving her stark naked before her.

“You’re so beautiful.” Ata whispered, tucking Morrigan’s hair away from her face before leaning down to kiss her again, softer this time, slower. They had time, and if she were to regret this tomorrow, she was going to make worth it.

 

Ata struggled to dress herself within the confines of the small tent, kicking her leg out the entrance as she pulled on her stubborn boot.

“Leaving so soon?” Morrigan asked from behind her, still laying naked and scarcely covered by a blanket, her hair was tousled and messy around her, it was the first time Ata had seen her with it down. She looked purely divine with it fallen upon her shoulders, her skin flushed a dark rose-gold, Ata felt her heart break ever so little at the idea of leaving such a sight behind. 

Ata crawled back over to her and kissed her again, giving up on the boot, instead she revealed in the comfort of being so close to her. Even with her clothes on and a blanket between them, she felt a fire build in her chest and coarse through her veins.

“I suppose it’s true what they say about Grey Wardens.” Morrigan chuckled as Ata placed a trail of kisses down her neck.

“And what’s that?” Ata mumbled against Morrigan’s flushed chest, and down her stomach, her tongue tasting the salt of her sweat as she moved lower.

“Their stamina….” Morrigan gasped and let her legs fall open before the Warden.

Morrigan let Ata go when she next went to leave, not wanting her to stay the night, the sex was…. Enjoyable, to say the least, but it was just that: sex. There was a whole new level of intimacy that came with spending the night, laying side by side, lungs breathing and hearts beating in time with each other, Ata’s arm wrapped around her. Morrigan feeling her warmth, getting drunk off her scent, waking up to see her sleeping face... her soft lips parted ever so slightly, her brow unclenched and her face at peace, feeling safe in Morrigan’s arms. Then her eyes would open, those warm dark eyes that crinkled in the corners ever so slightly with a permanent, heart stopping-ly beautiful smile kept hidden just for her…. that was the last thing Morrigan needed.

Morrigan winced as she prodded a nasty bruise on her thigh, she remembered the look of absolute shame on Ata’s face when Morrigan had clutched her thighs onto Ata’s horns, she’d warned Morrigan to keep her legs down, and yet she still apologised profusely, stopping every few moments to make sure she was still okay. It was endearing how cautious she was afterwards, though Morrigan would have preferred her not to be so careful…

She pulled over her satchel and picked up the poultice that fell out, she then began tenderly rubbing the elfroot mix into her thigh. The redness was already fading, by morning it would be completely healed, Morrigan wasn’t bothered by it, but she knew Ata would check up on her tomorrow. Ata had enough on her mind without wasting time worrying about a little bruise.

The marks upon her skin, however, those she would keep. The slight love bites marking her stomach, trailing down her unbruised thigh… those she could tolerate.

 _Fool._ She thought to herself, and quite rightly too. She knew the reason her mother had sent her with the Wardens, and it wasn’t out of desire to save Ferelden from a blight, at least not in the way the Grey Wardens planned.

‘ _Seduce the Warden, lay with them, make sure you are with child on the day of the battle.’_ Flemeth had told her.

Funny, she hadn’t specified _which_ Grey Warden, Morrigan thought mockingly.

Ata was right, they shouldn’t have, and yet she did.

Morrigan threw herself back onto the makeshift bed, letting the blanket fall on her face, it still smelt of her, which certainly did not help.

 “I’m such a fool.”

 

Ata still lay on her mat, hours after she had left Morrigan’s tent, eyes wide and cheeks burning hot. So many thoughts whirred through her mind faster than she could keep track, but the general idea seemed to be:

_OH SHIT OH FUCK OH SHIT OH FUCK OH SHIT OH FUCK OH SHIT OH FUCK OH SHIT OH FUCK OH SHIT_

She held her hands to her face dragging them up to her horns, rolled over and pulled herself into a foetal position.

Her friends had always told her that all it took was a pretty face to get Ata to do the dumbest of shit, it didn’t help that it was _Morrigan’s_ face, not just any pretty face but the most beautiful, smartest, funniest, most wonderful face she had ever seen, inviting her into her _bed_ … Ata had never stood a chance.

She stared at Morrigan’s tent, she wished she had stayed.

_No. No I do not._

Ata was a Grey Warden, death and sacrifice and taint and more death, that was her job now. She couldn’t afford to be falling for such a breathtakingly beautiful woman.  She snapped up out of her thoughts and stomped over to the nearby river, and splashed the cold water on her face, trying to wash the thoughts from her mind.

She shouldn’t have done it, but she certainly didn’t regret it. Which was part of the problem, even though it had been a while, and she’d never been with a _human_ woman before, which led to some minor slip-ups, she winced slightly as she remembered the dark bruise her horns had left on Morrigan’s thigh. Yet still it was the greatest night of her life, maybe that’s all it needed to be, a night they’d both remember and treasure, nothing more.

It couldn’t be more. Ata had a job to do, she needed to die and that couldn’t change. A relationship of any kind would just complicate things, she needed to make sure she told Morrigan that, made it clear that they couldn’t be anymore. It was for the best, in the long run.

“I’m such an idiot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! Hope fully it was worth it! I'll be uploading a chapter in the Dragon Age Lore soon to give you guys some info on the Gods i've introduced in this chapter. And maybe some information on the secret city of the north.


	19. The Day Before Redcliffe

 

** The Day Before Redcliffe **

Somewhere in the Bastard Hinterlands

 

The road was dry and packed tight underneath their boots, metal, leather and calloused feet kicked up dirt into the wind; dusting their hair and faces an earthy brown, and staining their eyes with red as they rubbed and blinked the debris away.

The air was getting colder, but it was still dry, there hadn’t been rain in weeks. The rivers were running shallow and their mouths cottoned. They were as dry and tired as the leaves that crunched and crisped beneath them, eager for a wash and a long rest.

Camping had been harder here, in the Hinterlands, then it had been in the East. The lands surrounding the forests were few in people and plenty in rain, but now with more people, came more darkspawn. Mortals were their prey and they the hunters, they had come straight to the busy lands of farmers and traders.

Ata tried not to count the amount of raided and abandoned villages they had passed, but the numbers still climbed, flashing behind her eyelids every time she tried to close them.

They weren’t far from Redcliffe now. They could be there by night fall if they pushed it, which she would make sure they did. Alim wouldn’t like it, nor would Natia, which would mean Sten wouldn’t either. But they’d forgive her once they were fed and bathed and in an actual bed tonight, rather than a thin mat on the floor.

They were coming up to a pass through the large sleeping hills that they’d been climbing over and through, sheltered from the harsh winds for a time. The wheels of Bhodan’s cart rolled awkwardly over the rocky paths, shaking Sandal and the cargo in the back violently with each bump.

“There’s a river up here, if I remember right, leads right to Lake Calenhad. It won’t have dried up I don’t think, it’s a deep one.” Alistair chirped up to the others, his voice croaked the way it might if one hadn’t spoken in a while. Which he hadn’t, he’d been quiet all day. Unusual for the smart mouthed Templar, who was more than happy to flirt with Alim, argue with Morrigan or complain to everyone all day. But, as they got closer to Redcliffe, the less he spoke. If the others noticed, they didn’t say anything, mostly grateful for the rare quiet.

The road became narrower as they travelled further through the pass, the hills on either side becoming more and more like steep cliff faces, as they travelled two by two ahead of the cart.

“You wait here Bohdan, we’ll go ahead and see the path widens, don’t want you getting stuck down here. Wait until you get my signal” Ata suggested as she gestured for Alistair, Morrigan and Lyna to follow her, before picking up her pace. The road began to curve and sway around the tall rock, getting narrow but still just wide enough for a cart to pinch through, eventually opening to a clearing. Which did in fact have a river, it was shallow but still flowing over the smooth stones it had carved through.

Ata fired a red spark into the air from her spear, that sped straight up in the air, then burst like a shot from a canon. The others would be there soon, the pass hadn’t been as long as they’d expected.

The group began making their way slowly over the dead grass and to the stream, when they heard a woman call to them.

“Help! You have to help me!” She cried, running over to them from further down the winding path. “Darkspawn! They took them, please come help!” She didn’t wait for a response, as soon as she caught their attention she was running back in the direction she’d come from.

Everyone was quickly dropping their packs and running to follow, weapons drawn. Aside from Morrigan, who trailed behind with a watchful eye, she recognised this scene, she’d seen it dozens of times before. Only this time she was on the other end, she was not the frightened girl luring people to their deaths, instead she was on the other side with the foolish warriors going in.

“Wait!” She called, “This is a trap!”

But by then the first set of poisoned arrows had already been fired, the first missed, the second imbedded itself into Alistair’s wooden shield, and the third scraped Ata’s arm.

The three and Mutt took cover, Lyna readied her bow to counter fire, whilst Alistair held his shield above their heads.

Morrigan took to the air, scouting the area, she found the woman who’d lured them into this trap. She was stood next to an elven man in expensive leather armour, and two blades drawn, he appeared to be directing the others. Morrigan locked onto him and dove straight down, her wings kept flat to her sides, then just as she mad impact- she burst into a giant spider, crashing into him. He was knocked back and unconscious before the woman knew what had happened.  

The young woman wasn’t hit, but still fell back in horror at the flying spider. Once the man was down, Morrigan was on her feet and bursting bolts of ice around her, the mercenaries were slow to react. They had been hired to ambush, they weren’t expecting an attack from behind, the archers turned on the witch allowing Lyna chance to fire her arrows back at them. And for Ata and Mutt to charge in from the front with Alistair.

The battle was ended quickly from there.

The leading elven man awoke to find himself sat up against what felt like the wheel of a cart, his arms bound to his torso with rope, and familiar cold of a metal blade to his throat.

He tested his bounds slightly before opening his eyes, it was done well, clearly who’d ever done it had captured people before. He wasn’t expecting that, not from Wardens, though he supposed he should have. Wardens were usually old men, disgraced soldiers and deserters, it’s possible some could have been bandits or other sorts who might bind an unconscious man. There was a great tightness in his chest, maybe a bruised rib or two, as if something had hit him with great impact. Then he remembered the massive spider that had leapt through the sky, it then dawned on him that it may well be that same spiders silken web that bound him, and not the rope of a bandit.

Zevran’s eyes quickly opened in a panic, he was in fact relieved to find that he’d been taken prisoner by a Vashothari woman, then the steel blade pressed closer to his throat, and his relief seeped down into his stomach, and rotted to dread.

“Bad dream?” The horned woman knelt to take a look at him, a concerned tilt to her head, for a second Zevran thought she might have _actually_ been worried.

“Ah yes, terrible. There were flying spiders, rope, and I was held at the mercy of one of the most terrifying women I had ever seen. Although, now that I think about it, that sounds quite pleasant, minus the flying spiders part, that is still quite the nightmare.” Zevran answered with a nervous laugh.

“Good, no memory loss.” She concluded, she stayed down on his level, taking a seat on the dirt.

“I _told_ you, I’m not foolish, I wouldn’t kill him without first obtaining any useful information.” A raven haired beauty chided from behind, the Vashothari smiled a soft and patient smile in response.

“Ah! You wish information? Then let me save you the trouble of torture. I am Zevran. Zev to my friends. I am an assassin, I was hired to kill you by a rather taciturn fellow in the capitol, Loghain I believe his name was. He wanted the remaining Grey Wardens dead, and so he contacted the Antivan Crows, they sent me. I came, you defeated me, I failed, and now here we are.” Zevran explained with as calm a demeanour as he could manage, which took a considerable effort, given his circumstances.

“Well, that’s… the easiest interrogation I’ve ever done.” The Vashothari rose to her feet and dusted herself off.

“I live to serve.” Zevran said with another nervous laugh. “So, before you make any decisions to murder me, may I offer an alternative?”

The woman paused a moment, then glanced to the Qunari man holding the blade to his neck, he shook his head at her.

“Go on then.” She allowed, appearing to ignore her allies input.

“I am most gracious. So, here’s the thing; I failed to kill you, and so my life is forfeit. If you don’t kill me, the Crows most certainly will. However, I am rather fond of living, and you can handle an assault by the crows, as you have rather wonderfully demonstrated.” Zervan explained quickly, hoping to convince them before they grew too impatient to listen. “So… let me serve you instead.”

The woman behind her snorted out a laugh, whilst the cold blade remained steady at his neck.

“That’s a rather… bold proposal.” The Vashothari eyed him cautiously, “We don’t really have enough tents.” Her company stared at her dumbly, Zevran couldn’t help but burst a laugh.

“Whilst I appreciate the concern, I would be happy to sleep outside, or purchase my own tent when the opportunity arose.”

“That is hardly the problem, surely I am not the only one who sees the idiocy in allowing the assassin to travel with us.” The large man spoke up, his tone as steady can cold as his sword.

“Nope. Ata, you’re not serious, right?” A dwarven woman who had been watching with an amused grin until now spoke up.

“Well, I mean.” Ata thought a moment, then turned to Zevran, she stared at him intently her eyes meeting his rather uncomfortably. “Are you going to try and kill any of us if we let you come along?”

“No.” Zevran answered before he had a chance to think on it.

“Will you help is stop the blight, however you can?”

“It seems a far better way to die than to the crows, don’t you think?” He joked with an awkward twitch, whishing he weren’t bound, only so he could escape her gaze.

“Answer the question.”

“Yes.”

Ata nodded, rather satisfied with his answers.

“See?” She said before leaning forward, cutting Zevran free, and helping him to his feet.

“I don’t like this.” A handsome young man stood to the side of him, shaking his head.

“Too bad, decision made, we’re moving on.” Ata clapped her hands once before turning to go, “Zevran, you walk with me, I have questions for you.”

And then they were moving on, and Zevran had somehow survived a failed assassination against the Grey Wardens, and not only been spared, but offered protection. The madam of the whorehouse he’d been born in had always called him a lucky bastard, but this was ridiculous, even by his standards.

 

Thanks to the delays caused by their new assassin friend, they didn’t make it Redcliffe before night came. The sun had long since set and they were still a good few leagues away, they decided to make camp in the shelter of an old barn, long since abandoned. It wasn’t ideal; the wood holding it’s crumbling roof groaned and whistled with each gust of wind. But it was better than nothing, and solved the tent problem that seemed to plague Ata’s mind.

They lit a camp fire in the barn, there were enough holes in the ceiling to act as a chimney. Dinner was meagre, they weren’t eating much as it was, and now with the extra mouth, they were left almost as hungry after their meal as they were before.

Zevran thanked everyone each around three times, and then offered to clean afterwards, but Alistair was quick to snatch the bowl out of his hand and insist he’d do it himself. Ata rolled her eyes at the young man, but then turned to Zevran:

“To be fair, you did try to kill us.” She reasoned, but the way she worded it made it seem like a mild misdemeanour, rather than an attempt on her own life.

“I take it this isn’t the first time someone’s tried to kill you?” Zevran asked.

“Most people I meet try at least once. For Alistair it’s… new, so he takes it rather personally.” Ata explained. Zevran nodded, he decided he liked Ata, not in the way he liked most people- though he most certainly liked her that way as well -but he also liked her attitude, pragmatic yet kind, trusting yet intelligent. Her very existence was a contradiction. A Tevinter Vashothari Grey Warden mage, the oddest of combinations yet they all seemed to fit her.

The conversation they’d had as they walked was rather one sided, it involved mostly her asking questions about the Crows, him and Antiva, he answered honestly, he didn’t have a reason to lie to her. And when she asked something he didn’t want to answer, she would nod and move to the next question. She asked if he was born in Antiva, then where in Antiva, she asked if he liked it there, she asked if he knew any other languages, she asked if he could speak some Antivan to her, so she could repeat it back. It felt more sociable than an interrogation, it was like they were two ladies chattering over lunch rather than a Grey Warden and a now former Antivan Crow.

Zevran tried to ask her questions in return, he was curious about this strange woman, she wouldn’t refuse to answer, but she was vague and would very quickly divert the conversation back to him. Zevran could read people, she was a slave, that was obvious. She was a Vashothari with a Tervene accent, there was no other explanation for that. She was the most senior Warden, again obvious. She and the raven-haired woman were lovers, this was also obvious to him, although the others seemed less aware. Apart from the bard, she seemed to have the same eye that he has and was very aware of the affair, he liked her as well, in both ways. She was a spy once, but now seemed to be chantry folk, then there was the Quanri who now followed the Vashothari willingly and was sleeping with the Dwarf, then the ex-templar who lusted for the mage. Then there was the Dalish girl who looked to be a child, yet he had seen kill three of his archers within seconds. And now Zevran, the former Antivan Crow now added to this incredibly odd mix of people. He decided he liked it, and liked them. It had been a while since he’d found such interesting people, he hoped they would trust him, not just to decrease his chances of being murdered - but because he would like to have such interesting people like him in return.

Zevran slept surprisingly well, considering he had five pairs of eyes watching him all through the night.

 

“Let me see it at least.” Morrigan said, she was growing impatient now, her tone short.

“It’s fine! The arrow just scrapped me, barely broke the skin.” Ata dismissed, then held her hand protectively over the wound which she had quickly bandaged.

“A _poison_ arrow, ‘tis in your blood, don’t be foolish.” Morrigan said, before pulling Ata’s hand away, to inspect the piss poor job she had done.

“How can someone who spends so much of their time injured, be so terrible at dressing wounds?” Morrigan asked as she cut away the cloth. Ata shrugged, and Morrigan rolled her eyes.

Once the wound was exposed, Morrigan could see the pus foaming out from the flesh, a foal yellow colour. It was deathroot, Zevran had already told her this but looking at it now she was certain; death root gave a very distinctive bitter scent. But there was something not right about the way it was reacting; Deathroot wasn’t known for affecting the skin around a wound, it sinks deep into the blood and straight to the heart and lungs, drowning the person almost instantly. Ata hadn’t shown any symptoms, it wasn’t until they were alone later and she was undressed that Morrigan had realised she’d been hit.

“How strange, have you taken the antidote for deathroot recently? What even is it?” Morrigan asked the bored Ata.

“Isn’t one, as far as I’m aware. I just… am a bit more resistant to poison, a qunari thing I’m told. Ask Sten about it, they use paint made from poisonous plants as armour. I tried it once, but it left my skin feeling…. Odd.” Ata said, very ready to be done with the conversation and go back to what they were doing before Morrigan noticed the bandage.

“What a useful trait, I wonder if it’s a part of your blood? Or the skin? I’m certain Zervran shall be envious.” Morrigan said, pondering over the possibilities. “Could I get a vial? Of your blood I mean?” Morrigan asked absentmindedly as she cleaned and re-dressed the wound.

Ata froze, her body stiffening as she let the idea of handing over a vial of her blood crash through her mind. Like a wild beast trapped in a house made of cloth, tearing and staining without realising the damage it was doing. Ata imagined what Morrigan might do with her blood, what any human blood mage might do with it; Use it. Ata felt a cold shiver rush over her body like being held under icy water by her neck, with a red, silk ribbon.

“No.” She said.

Morrigan paused, looking up from the freshly wrapped arm to her lover, she was wasn’t looking at her. But at something far in the distance, something as terrifying as it was disturbing, something so deep in the dark of her mind that Morrigan could not see.

“If you wish. I’m all done here, leave it on until tomorrow night and you should be all healed.” Morrigan said, wishing to drop the subject and cover it quickly in the dirt.

“Thank you.” Ata came back from the dark with a genuine smile, to which Morrigan - despite her best efforts - couldn’t help but return.

 

Alim was struggling to get used to the weight of a blade in his hand. He was so used to the feel of smooth oak in his grasp, light, and warm with magic. The short sword Ata had given him felt cold and heavy, his movements were slow and graceless. The weak and stringy muscles of his arms had a dull ache to them most nights, after spending as much of his day possible practicing. He’d tried to learn to fight with his staff, like Ata did, but he didn’t have the strength, or height, to back it up. She suggested that he try a sword at first, and once he’d built up some muscle, they could try the spear again.

Ata had tried to train him, which he appreciated, his form had improved and he had become far stronger than he had been when they started. But it wasn’t enough. There was something he was missing, that Ata couldn’t teach. She was a blood mage, which he struggled to accept at times, but understood it was very different from the new magic he had learnt. Ata’s magic allowed her to meld and shape her body to be what it needed to be, if she needed to be stronger or faster, she could make it so. If she needed to fly she could grow wings and fly, to swim she would grow gills and swim, Alim wasn’t a blood mage, and he did not intend to become one, even if Ata was willing to teach him.

No, Alim had discovered something entirely new, or rather, something so old it was long forgotten.

Knight Enchanter, that was what he was now, the magic given to him by the ancient spirit, trapped and alone for so long. He just didn’t know how to access it yet. His magic was so different to Morrigan’s and Ata’s, that they couldn’t help him unlock it either. This was something he would have to do himself, which brought him no small amount of frustration.

The night air was cooler, he appreciated the breeze as it brushed past his sweating brow, unable to lift the hair plastered to his head with sweat. He pulled of his undershirt and let the cold air embrace his pale frame, drying the back of his neck.

“Stop working so hard, you’re making the rest of us look bad.” Alistair’s voice made him jump.

“Oh I don’t think you’ve ever looked bad, Alistair.” Alim said with a breathy laugh.

“Well that’s true.” Alistair teased in return, but his tone didn’t have the same lightness to it.

“Something bothering you? You’ve been awfully quiet lately, I’ve missed the flattery.” Alim turned to look at the Templar.

“I’m the bastard son of King Maric, the late King Maric. As in King Cailans half-brother. The late King Cailan.” Alistair said.

“Oh. Is that- Are you planning on becoming King then?” Alim asked, uncertain how to proceed.

“Maker no! That’s the last thing I’d want. I just, thought I’d tell you, I’d mentioned before that Arl Eamon had raised me, I figured it would come up when we got to Redcliffe, I just didn’t want you to find out that way. I hope this doesn’t change anything between us?” Alistair rung his hands nervously, he’d never had to tell anyone before, most people knew before he even met them. He’d never chosen for someone to know before, it felt… odd but pleasant.

“I mean, okay? I guess. I don’t really know what you want me to say.” Alim shrugged, he’d known nobles before, high ranking ones to, in the circle they were all mages and although some would put on airs, they were all nothing to the Templars.

“You… you really couldn’t care less that my father was the King of Ferelden, could you?” Alistair asked

“Does it matter? You’re a Warden now, what difference does it make who your father was, mine could have been the Maker; it wouldn’t matter, I’m still an elf, still a mage and still a Warden. Your father is the King, you’re still a bastard, just a royal bastard instead.” Alim said

“I- That means a lot more to me than I think you realise. Thank you.” Alistair said with a grin

“I’m glad.” Alim smiled back, “In return for my wonderfully wise and accepting nature, could you give me a few pointers, I’m trying to get a hang of this sword nonsense.”

“Oh? Are you sure, I think Ata or Sten might be better to teach you, they’re certainly better than me.” Alistair hesitated

“I’m not asking Ata or Sten, besides, if you give me lessons, it means I can tell people I’ve had royal training. Now doesn’t _that_ sound impressive?” Alim encouraged, bringing a laugh from the nervous lad.

“I’m going to regret telling you this, aren’t I?” Alistair asked

“Definitely. Now show me how I stab darkspawn better.”


	20. Blood and Fade

Blood and Fade

Redcliffe 

 

The cliff’s surrounding the small harbour stood tall and proud against Lake Calenhad, their faces stained red, like rust, streaming down from the soil at their tops. A stark contrast against the clear calm blue of the waters below it, like a hundred tiny crystals the sunlight danced against its surface, scattering into infinite different colours back into the air. The harbour itself was just as quiet as it rested in the summer afternoon warmth, the children danced and splashed in the distance, rejoicing in the cool refreshment of the water on their skin. Whilst their parents rowed out in their rickety boats to fish, throwing out their nets in the waters, then heaving them back on board again, the captured fish jumping and thrashing against the rope as they were brought back to shore. Where the smell of their guts spilling out, was carried by the soft breeze through the creaking houses that lay on stilts above the lake, turning up the noses of the villagers, merchants and priests going about their day in the small town.

“I’m gonna get so drunk!” Natia exclaimed excitedly as they finally found their way back to civilisation.

“I just need to get clean, I don’t care about anything else.” Alim said, he’d been dreaming about a nice hot bath for weeks.

“I hear the noblemen of Ferelden are known for their hospitality, I prey this is true, I would quite happily slit a man’s throat for a good meal right about now.” Zevran sighed.

“Wouldn’t you do that anyway?” Lyna asked.

“Well yes, but now I would even slit the throat of a very attractive and polite man, that is how hungry I am right now.” Zevran added reasonably.

The day was coming to an end as the sun began to sink into the horizon, when they arrived in the village. Alistair felt his chest swell as he arrived home, it was just way the way he left it. Even in the midst of a blight the village had remained unscathed.

He led his allies to the castle, the guards stood firmly in the way of the band of odd and armed folk. Accusing them of being thugs or mercenaries, until Alistair introduced himself, then it was quite the royal welcome.

The castle was new, perhaps only a generation or two old. Its stone was clean and unblemished, it’s building a contrast from the Orlasian and Tevinter architecture that was scattered across the land. Every wooden structure seemed to have a Mabari carved into it, its carpets were earthy reds and greens, dark and heavy fabrics lined the windows to keep out the cold of the harsh Ferelden winters.

A man who introduced himself as the Arl’s brother, Ban Teagan, met them at the entrance.

“Well I’ll be, Alistair!” The man smiled kindly at the young man. “How you’ve grown!” He greeted Alistair as any distant relative would, rather than a nobleman meeting a bastard Warden.

“Teagan, it’s good to see you!” Alistair said, “But where is Arl Eamon?” Teagan paused, a worried frown crunching his brow.

“Arl Eaman is unwell at the moment, he is in his room being cared for by the healers. I’m sure it’s nothing, simply a cold, my brother is often dramatic.” Teagan lied with a nervous laugh. “But I’m sure he will be up in no time to greet you and your… forgive me Alistair, but who are these people?”

“Ah yes!” Alistair smacked his own forehead, “Apologies, these are my fellow Grey Wardens, Atakan, Alim, Lyna and Natia. And these are- uh…”

“Our conscripts, they’re honorary Wardens whilst the blight rages on, but will be released once it ends.” Ata explained, it wasn’t entirely untrue. “I’m sorry to hear the Arl is unwell, If we had a healer, I would offer their aid.”

“That is kind of you, but do not worry, our healers are hard at work and my brother should be up and well in no time. Come, I will have the servants prepare rooms for you and your companions. You must be exhausted.” Teagan gestured for them to follow, then lead them down a hall with no windows, and many fabrics with depictions of Andraste and other prominent church figures, and a mabari thrown in for no apparent reason, in almost every scene. The thick stone did well to keep the heat out, almost leaving a chill in the air as they were brought to the guest rooms.

“I will have dinner prepared for you and your company, do make yourself comfortable, the servants will bring you heated water to bathe shortly.” Teagan gave another warm smile and a gracious bow before leaving the group to their own devices in the empty quest quarter.

 

“Where are you going?” Morrigan asked as Ata walked away to another room, she turned around awkwardly on the spot at her voice.

“To bathe?” She asked, confused at the Witch’s offense.

“T’would make more sense for us to share a room, would it not?”

“Oh! I suppose… it would make sense, I just thought- I mean if you want to?”

“I’m going to be naked and wet in a bath within the next 10 minutes.” Morrigan stated before disappearing into her room, leaving the door wide open.

The door shut and Ata’s arms were wrapped around her waist, her lips kissing the back of her neck softly, as she undressed Morrigan.

“Wait until we’re in the bath.” Morrigan said through giggles.

“All I heard were the words ‘naked’ and ‘wet’.” Ata teased, slipping her soft fingers between her thighs. Morrigan turned out of her grasp, and pushed Ata against the door, then kissed her properly. Morrigan’s kisses reminded Ata of strong liquor. Subtle and burning, a taste that she knew would only end in disaster if she had too much, but the more she tasted her, the more she needed her.

She felt like an alcoholic dying of thirst when she pulled away.

“As lovely as you are, you truly need to bathe before I’ll have you anywhere near me.” Morrigan finished sternly before pulling away from the sulky Ata, who waited impatiently for the servants to arrive with the water for their bath. When they arrived, she didn’t let them into heat it, insisting that she would do it herself.

They lay in the hot water together, Morrigan straddling her lap as she washed Ata’s hair, a difficult task considering her dreads, but she still wished to do it nonetheless. Ata closed her eyes, Morrigan’s fingers were rough and calloused, but her touch was gentle as she massaged her lovers scalp. The soap was some mix of lavender and Andraste’s grace, a powerful mixture of scents, yet still soft and calm.

Morrigan let her hands wonder along Ata’s horns, counting the rings along them, her fingers memorising the scars that marked them. She let her mind wonder as to how she received each one, a battle in Seheron? Tevinter? Or some other country Morrigan had never seen, only heard of? Morrigan imagined the places outside of Ferelden, it was difficult, Redcliffe was the furthest she’d ever been from home. To go even further, seemed a terrifying concept, not that she would ever admit that.

“Have you ever been to Antiva?” Morrigan asked, Ata woke slightly at the question.

“No, actually.” She answered, then she continued without thinking. “But I’d like to someday. What about you? Would you like to go one day?”

“Are you suggesting we go together?” Morrigan asked, her hands were resting on her shoulders now, her thumbs rubbing small circles on her collar.

“I wasn’t, but would that be such a bad thing?” Ata asked, her eyes now wide open and focusing on her face, taking in her every movement, she could feel her heartbeat.

“After that first night, we agreed that this would be a…. casual affair, are you changing your mind, Warden?” Morrigan questioned, she met Ata’s eyes then.

“A trip to Antiva can still be ‘casual’. We are friends, who enjoy each other’s company, friends go to Antiva together all the time.” Ata explained poorly.

“Is it common for you to have sex with your friends?” Morrigan asked, curious where her Warden’s mind was going, and what acrobatics it was preforming to reason her desires.

“No, this is a first. But just because something is a little different, doesn’t make it a bad thing.” Ata said.

“So, if we are simply friends who enjoy frequent sex with one another, then t’would not be considered foul play for me to have other friends, who I’d also have frequent sex with?” Morrigan asked, a tease on her lips in the shape of a smile.

“Well, not technically. But our relationship is unique, if you were also to do this with others, it would lose it’s…. uniqueness. I think it better if we didn’t.”

“So, to conclude. We are friends, who have frequent sex with one another, exclusively. Who also plan to travel to Antiva together, whilst having sex, exclusively.” Morrigan said with a laugh tickling at the back of her tongue. Ata gave a firm nod in agreement. “Well, I may be new to friendship, but ours does sound a strange one indeed.”

 

 

Lady Ysolde was a patient woman. She hadn’t been in Ferelden long, before she met her husband, and her son was born. But she would say she has adapted well to it’s people, and customs. She knew that the people where…. Rougher around the edges than the Orlesian nobles she’d been used to. That they tended to be louder, more stubborn and more abrasive than a lady would like, but, again, Lady Ysolde was a patient woman.

She had been understanding in regard to the bastard Eamon had taken in, allowing him to sleep in the servant quarters or with the hounds. She even endured the relentless rumours that the bastard belonged to her husband, for far longer than any other Orlesian lady might of. Because, Lady Ysolde was a patient woman.

But she felt, that the bastard arriving at her home, in the middle of the night, whilst her husband lay ill, unwashed with a mabari, two apostates, a Dalish, an Antivan, three dwarves and not one, but _two_ Quanari, that, she felt was just cause for her to be displeased. A sentiment that her brother in law did not seem to share.

She watched as they slobbered off their plates, shovelling food into their mouths faster than they could swallow. Chewing, mouths open as they spoke through their food.

“We appreciate your hospitality, Lady Ysolde. It is very kind of you to allow us in your home, we understand this must be a difficult time for you.” The surprisingly well spoken Qunari thanked her.

“Oh you do not need to thank me; you are Grey Wardens, it is an honour to have you.” Lady Ysolde lied. “I am only sorry my husband is not able to greet you, he would be so happy to have you here.”

“Yes, I’ve heard many great things of Arl Eamon, he seems a good man. May I ask what has befallen him?” Ata asked.

“Poisoned.” Lady Ysolde said blankly. Alistair nearly chocked on his food.

“What!? Teagan, you said it was a cold?” Alistair blurted, looking franticly between Teagan and Ysolde. Teagan look to Ysolde then down to his empty table setting, his fingers tapping the side of his chalice nervously.

“My Lady?” Ata prompted Ysolde to continue.

“I am Orlesian, I know an assassination attempt anywhere. He has been poisoned, by the very mage sent here to protect his son.” Lady Ysolde scoffed, then took a large swig of wine. “Connor is a mage.” She confessed, there was no going back now, she may as well come clean. “I had hired a mage to tutor him not a month or two ago, he was in our _home._ I-I blame myself, I let him near my family, and now it has all fallen apart. My husband is dying, and now my son he- he blames himself for his magic, he locks himself in his room and speaks to no one. While the rest of us sit here, doing nothing. Pretending it is a cold that will pass with rest and fruit juice!” Lady Ysolde practically spat at Ban Teagan, she didn’t realise she was shaking until she felt the female Qunari place her hand over hers. Lady Ysolde would usually never allow it, but in that moment, it was a small comfort to have a steady hand in the storm she was trapped in.

“What does your family need?” Ata asked, her voice steady and kind.

“The Urn, the Urn of Sacred Ashes. It will cure my husband, it is the only way now. And you must go, you must go soon, he-“ Lady Ysolde was desperate and shaking, her hand grasping onto Ata’s as she chocked on her sobs. “He doesn’t have long left. He will die if you do not help.”

“Ysolde. You have already sent all our knights in search for the Urn, we are in the middle of a blight, the Wardens have far more urgent matters to attend than the search of a myth.” Teagan finally spoke, his voice wasn’t angry or upset the way Ysolde was, he simply sounded tired. Like the life had already been drained from him, as though he had already mourned the loss of his brother and moved on.

“Is there nothing else we can do to save him? I mean Andraste’s ashes have to exist… if they could save Eamon…” Alistair spoke up quietly, a shaky look in his eye as though he would cry.

The table sat in silence, the Wardens waited for their leader to decide, waiting for the opportunity to weigh in their thoughts. But before Ata could speak, there was an ungodly wail from upstairs, in the room Connor had hidden himself away in. 

The halls seemed so empty and quiet as they rushed to find the source of the scream.

“Connor? Connor are you hurt?” Ysolde called as she rushed ahead to her son’s room, she burst through the door before anyone could stop her. The stench of blood hit her nose before anything else. Copper and iron flooded her nose nearly chocked her as she stumbled forward, Connor was covered in it, but it was not his. The elven servant lay dead on the ground, along with four others, eyes and mouth wide open in a frozen cry for help, before the life was drained from them. Ysolde stared in horror at her child, who stood over the bodies, there was something in his hands, it was impossible to tell from the blood. “Conner?” She gasped, taking a step closer.

“Mother, what have I done?” The boy turned to her, his hands reaching up, his palms stretching out to release what he held. Ears. Elven ears fell to the ground with a wet slap. “Mother, help me.”

Before Ysolde could reach out for her son, Ata took a step forward, placed a hand to his forehead and caught him in her arms as he collapsed.

“W-what have you done?” Ysolde gasped, she hadn’t realised she was on the floor until then, collapsed in the blood on her knees.

“He’s asleep.” Ata said, then passed him over to one of the guards. “Put him in a room, lock the door and remove anything sharp, anything he might use to hurt himself.” The guard nodded dumbly, before rushing the boy out of the room. She turned to another. “Go to the Chantry, we need two seasoned Templars, go now.” He left quickly without a word. Ata finally turned to Lady Ysolde. “Where is the blood mage?”

“What is happening to my son?” Ysolde asked, her tone dull and dead.

“The good news is that your husband is likely no longer dying.” Morrigan answered for her.

 

Morrigan was right. Eamon was no longer dying, but he wasn’t awake either, his soul was bound to his body as it let air in and out, as the heart pumped the blood though him. But he was not living.

Ata made the others stay behind. Morrigan protested of course, but she obliged. Her spear felt heavy in her hand, heavier than it had felt a long time. Since the last time it had been used to kill a blood mage, though it would be different this time, this time there would be a reason for it.

Ata felt her stomach turn as the elves eyes flashed behind her eyelids. What a familiar sight it had been, to see them beaten, bloodied and broken before her, at the hands of a foolish human, thinking they understood magic. She hoped the mage locked in the cages below was responsible, she truly did. She hoped for a cackling Tevinter, twirling his moustache and talking of conquering Ferelden through the Arls son.

She was of course disappointed.

He was Tervene, in part. The son of a magister, until he proved too soft, too nervous, then he was sent to the circle, abandoned. It was of course, Jowan Amell. He didn’t recognise her, only stared at her, the same nervous and soft Jowan she had known as a child. Too weak to stand up to his father, but also too kind to obey. Now a blood mage, an apostate, and she knew was not responsible for the crimes of the Arl’s son.

“W-who are you?” He stuttered from behind the safety of his bars.

“I was too be your executioner. But you don’t have any idea what has just happened upstairs, do you?” Ata asked, standing down as she leant against the cold, damp cobblestone wall, facing him.

“What do you mean?” Jowan asked, daringly take a step closer to the metal door.

“What a desperate woman the Lady must have been, to come to you for help. Such a cowardly little mage you are still, after all these years.” Ata scoffed at him, she had hoped for an easy answer, that the blood mage could be killed, breaking the curse on young Connor. That she wouldn’t be faced with the fact that the 10-year-old child had become an abomination.

“Atakan.” Jowan said out loud. “You’re alive.” His eyes grew wide with fear, like a little rabbit faced with the butcher’s knife. “Is father here?”

Ata stared at him, watching the terror stir in him a moment.

“No.” She released him, “He thinks you and I are both dead.” She lied, but it seemed to calm the mage greatly.

“Why are you here? For me?” Jowan asked, confused. “You want revenge?” Ata laughed bitterly.

“And what satisfaction would I receive, hm? From killing his unwanted second son? The meagre little runt who was cast out for weakness?” Ata saw the words hurt him and she took a small pleasure in that.

“Then why are you here?” Jowan demanded, the insults clearly getting to him. “On his order? The loyal little bird doing what _daddy_ wishes?” Ata took one large step forward, grabbing the collar of his robes and bashing him to the bars, holding him there. Her glare meeting his.

“I am no _pet_ and I am hardly little, am I?” She towered over him, holding the scared mage close, her grasp so near his neck, she could feel his heart race. His blue eyes as bright as his fathers, but they didn’t carry the same cold to them, they looked tired and scared and, so very sad.

She hated him as much as she envied him, what she wouldn’t give to have been not good enough in his eyes. To be deemed unworthy of his gifts, to be cast out to fend for herself. That would be preferable to what she had been, the favourite, his most prized possession, kept close and safe always. Until she wasn’t.

“Jowan?” Alim called out from the heavy iron prison door. Ata let the boy ago and moved away from the cage.

“A friend of yours?” She asked him.

“We were in the circle together. I helped him escape, until he turned out to be a blood mage, and left me behind. He’s the reason I’m a Warden.” Alim explained, Ata wasn’t sure whether that meant Alim was indebted to him, or wanted vengeance, Alim wasn’t either.

“Well, either way, he’s not responsible for Connor’s possession. Unless you want to blame poor tutoring for all this.” Ata said, moving on. “You can decide what happens next for him, I couldn’t care less.” Then she was gone, leaving the two apostates.

Alim sighed a moment, wishing Ata would come back, so he wouldn’t have to make the decision. Then he quickly grabbed the door key from the wall and opened his cell.

“This is the last time I free you Jowan. I don’t want to see you again.” Alim said coldly.

“But I, I want to stay. To help. Alim please-“ Jowan started, Alim held his hand up to silence him.

“You have helped quite enough.” Alim held the door open for him to leave. “Don’t think that I am willing to trust you after all this. You were my brother once, which is why I’m letting you go, please just accept this kindness and don’t come back.” Alim stared at the ground as he spoke, he couldn’t look at him. He couldn’t meet his eyes and say goodbye, he wasn’t sure whether he’d hug him or kill him. He didn’t want to find out. He just clenched his fist tight round the metal bars, steadying himself. Jowan hesitated, then stepped out of his cell, but before he could turn away, he placed a hand firmly on the elf’s shoulder. Alim immediately placed his other hand over it and held it there, just for a moment, before he felt it slip away. He stood there until he heard the footsteps fade away, and the door to the outside closed.

Alim took a shaky breath to steady himself, then closed the cage and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to mix it up a bit with what happens at redcliffe, mainly because i thought an undead invasion but would be boring to write. Also, we all know the plot of dragon age origins, and I don't want it all to be predictable, so there will be a few curve-balls that I hope you'll enjoy.
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


	21. Tempest

Tempest

Redcliffe

 

They say that the first rain of the season is a sign of great change. it comes and washes away the life that is due to die, drowning it; allowing a chance for new life to thrive and grow. That is, when it’s the first rain of the summer. They were not in summer now, the sun did not sit patiently behind the clouds, waiting anxiously to return to her world, to watch and guide it to beauty. The sun was resting now, and the sky was bleak and grey, no light to shine through. This rain was the first of Autumn, it was late as well, the ground was nothing but dry, dead earth. This water would flood the land, life would be drowned and washed away and nothing but ice would replace it.

Ata could hear the howling wind thrash against the walls of the castle, the rain whipping against it in bulk, as if someone where throwing buckets of water at the stone. It would hold, the castle was built to withstand anything, whether it be storms, floods or invasions, no outside force could break it.

But one child, one scared child. That could destroy it all from the inside, brick by brick. 

“Surely we aren’t going to kill the child?” Zevran asked. The room had been silent. Ata stared through the walls of the castle, her mind lost in her memories of Tevinter. Of the times she had been trapped within the scene they’d all witnessed, a child lost to a demon, tearing apart innocents, lost to blood and fade magic twisted into a wicked concoction. _What have I done?_ The boy had pleaded, _help me._ The words were almost a mocking imitation of her past, thrust back upon her, to remind her of who she really was.

_No. That wasn’t me._ She reminded herself, her eyes turned to Morrigan, silent. _It wasn’t real_.

Not all of it at least.

That’s was the hardest part sometimes, not knowing what was truth and was lies. Sometimes she’d rather that it all be true, so that she could at least know. Sometimes uncertainty was worse. The blood flashed before her again, not Connor’s crimes now but hers. But no demons were there to excuse it, just her, and blood and raven hair and golden eyes.

_That wasn’t real._

_That_ she knew for certain _._

Broken bones, shattered frame lying at the bottom of the stairs, twitching fingers and desperate, dying eyes.

Claws tearing into the flesh of the already dead, shaved heads, clipped ears, brands across their faces. Their lives forfeit, it didn’t matter what she did, they were gone anyway. Heart beating, faster, faster, fire crawling along her veins. Eating it all up. Her claws, her teeth, her tongue tasting the iron.

‘ _Well done, little bird.’_

“If you could call it that. He’s an abomination; more demon than a child.” Morrigan spoke, it was Morrigan speaking. And with her words she brought Ata back down, cloaking her in the world around them.

Lady Ysolde was still with her son, they couldn’t drag her away even if they tried, he was still sleeping, Ban Teagan stayed by her side as well as the Templars brought from the town. They could hold off the influences from the fade for now, but magic had seeped deep into his blood, there wasn’t much any human could do about that.

Was Connor still there? He seemed to be when he cried for his mother. But demons were clever little creatures, and imitating the pleas of a boy wasn’t difficult.

Even if he weren’t completely taken, what could they do? A demon couldn’t be controlled once it had fully merged with a mortal, once it has sunken it’s gnarled roots in there wasn’t any going back. She’d seen attempts to control abominations, bind them like simple spirits, it was the one way the situation could be worsened.

“He’s the Arl’s _son_! You can’t hurt him.” Alistair argued with a stubborn slam of his fist on the table.

“And that excuses his actions? He just tore the ears off the Arl’s servants while they still drew breath! You heard the screams!” Lyna spurted, her hands shook as she held them clenched at her sides.

“Funny how the Templars haven’t killed him yet. What I wouldn’t give to have been a human with a noble father. No circle, no rules. You can even become an abomination, murder a few elves, and you’ll still have people defending you.” Alim gave a bitter, angry laugh.

“He’s just a _boy_. Will you be the one to do it?” Alistair demanded.

“I’m not saying will kill him, I’m just acknowledging the hypocrisy of a Templar trying to _stop_ people from killing an abomination.” Alim said unconvincingly, he turned from the conversation.

“He’s family.” Alistair said weakly.

“It’s an abomination. This would not happen in Par Vollen, southerners are too lenient with their mages, this needs to be dealt with before it harms others. Familiarity is no excuse.” Sten spoke sternly, done with talking, as if there was anything to discuss.

“Ata? You have been quiet. You are… familiar with this kind of magic, what do you suggest?” Leliana grasped Ata’s gaze for a moment, a silent plea for a solution to the mess they’d landed in, a way to save the boy and make what he’d done go away. Ata looked away and up to the ceiling of the chapel, she let out a heavy sigh.

“I don’t think there’s anything that can be done now. He’s possessed, you can’t control him, you can’t free him…. Morrigan? Do you know of anything we can do?” Ata turned to her, hoping for anything that might save her from having to kill a child.

Alim snorted, “There _isn’t_ a cure for this. Once you’re an abomination, that’s it. You’re fucked. I’d be surprised if the Templars haven’t given him the ‘blade of mercy’ already.” Alim’s bitterness tasted like iron on his tongue. It stuck to him, the smell, taste, the wet sounds of the ears being dropped to the ground. He could only wretch at the memory; he’d already thrown up everything he had.

“There is a way.” Morrigan answered. “We would need a great deal of lyrium, and more mages, but another mage could confront the demon in the fade, and free the boy from possession.”

“It can’t be that simple.” Alim argued

“Tis indeed, if one is familiar enough with the fade, there is minimal risk. I imagine you’ve never heard of it, simply because the Chantry does not wish you to.” Morrigan said.

“It’s true, the Dalish use a similar ritual if anything like that happens to our mages.” Lyna said, “But tell me, what happens afterwards?”

Ata met the young girl’s eyes, she felt what little energy she had left seep from her, shame clouding her as she knew what she’d say next would disappoint her.

“I know you’re angry, and you have a right to be, but-“

“Right. I get it.” Lyna shot up from her seat and left the room before anyone could make her stay.

Alistair got up to follow.

“She’s not going to go after Connor. She just wants to be alone.” Ata said curtly, her hand on his arm to stop him from leaving.

He didn’t look convinced, but stayed anyway.

“We’ll need to go to Kinloch hold then, yes?” Leliana said after a long, uncomfortable pause.

They would indeed.

 

It would take two days to sail across the lake, that is if it wasn’t thrashing wildly against the shores, as though the water itself was possessed. Looking out from the balcony Ata watched as, far in the distance, the people of Redcliff hurried to pull their boats back to shore, trying in vain to save the rickety wooden vessels from being crushed against the rock and pulled down, down and down to the bed of the lake.

No one would be able to make it over the waves, Ata told herself, as she watched the waters wrestle with itself, the wind sweeping over it, pulling up a spray that fought hard to reach her in the castle, but fell short. She stared up at the sky, waiting for the flash of lightening and thunder that followed quickly after. It would illuminate the darkened waters, making the burning torches of the village seem obsolete.

The next strike was closer than the others, it shattered across the restless waters, sparking light in its darkest shadows. She saw the shape of it’s bed, and the jagged rocks that lurked beneath, she saw the shadows of the life that stirred underneath, something large and menacing - She saw a boat.

A small wooden boat, a boat that should have been thrown at the cliff’s edge and shattered into countless pieces, but it wasn’t.

Morrigan sat on the bed they were supposed to be sleeping in; she wasn’t foolish enough to rest in the fade while demons lurked in the shadows. She instead scanned through all the books the castle library had on Redcliffe’s history, not that it was many; Fereldens weren’t known for being academics. She wanted to know as much as she could about the town, for when she entered the fade to confront the demon, she knew the land of memories would reflect what its residence had seen over the centuries.

She wasn’t finding much, Redcliffe was a newer town, built upon the ruins of another, that was built upon another, and so on and so forth for thousands of years. The land appeared to be cursed, so the books told her, the red of the cliffs came from the blood of innocent lives lost, supposedly. All kinds of creatures lurked hear, in the forests and the fields, in the towns, even the water was rumours of creatures the size of dragons. Though it was likely true, Morrigan wouldn’t give credit to anything she didn’t know for sure, any demon she met would love it if her head were filled with fears of what she heard in bard tales, which is why she refused to ask Leliana for any help. The woman loved her stories, and such gave them far too much credit, which is likely why she clung to Andraste and her Maker so desperately.

“Atakan, what do you know of….” Morrigan looked up to the balcony where Ata had been stood to find her… gone. Odd, she could have sworn she’d seen her stood outside. Morrigan rose to her feet and stood in the doorway, then a flash of lighting burst and she saw a red hawk dash through the air, and a helpless figure being thrashed wildly in their boat below. “I take my eyes off of you for one minute.” Morrigan tutted before following Ata into the storm.

 

Lyna’s hand had begun to blister; she didn’t care, she welcomed the pain. It kept her grounded, reminded her she was still breathing. The sting of her palms, the scrap of the metal shovel digging into the dirt. She was outside the castle grounds; they deserved better then to rest where their lives had been stolen. It was a forest, a mile or so south of the castle, they would rest amongst the tees, nature would take them home, the humans couldn’t hurt them here.

Bodhan had let her borrow his cart, so long as she cleaned it after. Lyna could smell the blood, it leaked through the fabric she’d wrapped them in, it wasn’t the first time she buried dead elves. She feared it wouldn’t be the last time either.

The rain made her task ever so much harder, the trees provided some cover, the wind still blew past her, but she wouldn’t stop. She wouldn’t let them rot in that place, she wouldn’t let the demons reach them.

“You’ve taken on such a heavy burden, for someone so small.” Zevran’s voice called out to her over the wind.

Lyna ignored him, it was the last grave now, she needed to finish. She plunged the shovel into the ground once more, but the water let her hand slip and the largest blister on her hand split open.

“Ah! Masal din’an!” Lyna cursed in pain, throwing the shovel to the ground. She held her hand to the lantern hanging from the cart, it was bleeding much more than she’d expect.

“Allow me.” Zevran said softly, then took her hand gently in his own. He pulled a string of fabric from one of this many pockets and a cloudy ointment, he soaked the rag before bandaging it tightly around her hand. She let out a hiss as it burnt her skin. “There, now sit.”

“No. I need to finish.” Lyna shook her head defiantly.

“I will finish for you.” Zevran soothed, he then picked up the shovel, and dug the rest of the grave. Once he was done, Lyna helped him carry the bodies to their resting place, one by one. Filling them was far easier than digging had been, the rain helped.

Lyna had found out the names of each of them from the servants at the castle, she’d carved them into pieces of ironwood. Her clans craft master had given her them to repair her bow, not for her to do of course, but to give to a Dalish crafter to do correctly. But this seemed a better use, the small strips of ironwood bark were tied to large sticks for make shift grave stones, and placed at their heads.

Zevran followed her direction, making sure to do everything correctly, as the Dalish would, as they deserved. He then stood by her side as she spoke, her words were brief, she didn’t know the full prayer, but it would need to be enough.

“Thank you.” Lyna said quietly, after a silent journey back.

“It is a shame to see someone so young, to be so sad.” Zevran shook his head softly.

“When the Dalish reach their sixteenth year, we are marked with our vallaslin, we become adults. Don’t treat me like a child.” Lyna answered, before dismounting the cart, the mud was cold and slick against her bare feet. She untied the brahmin and led him into the stable, she petted him softly as she dried him.

“I did not mean to patronise you, I apologies.” Zevran approached her, he felt unsure in himself suddenly. He had followed her out of curiosity at first, but now all he wanted to do was take her far away from the world, to protect her. It was odd feeling; Zevran wasn’t exactly known for being paternal, but this young Dalish was so lost, so alone. Watching her dig those graves, nothing had ever made him care about the dead before, he’d seen and committed enough murders to become almost blind to it. He didn’t see it as a crime anymore, or an act against god- Maker or Elvhen. But somehow, she made it seem like the greatest sin he’d ever witnessed.

“How do you get like that?” Lyna asked, Zevran titled his head, not understanding the question. “You kill people for money, you kill people without thinking, without caring. I’ve killed plenty of humans before, but each time I did it, I cared. It was a choice I made. You don’t feel angry, sad, guilty… how? How do you stop caring about the people who die?”

“Tell me, when you were digging, your hands blistered, this hurt, yes?” Zevran asked her, she nodded. “Yet you kept digging, for hours you dug, until the blisters did not matter anymore. That is what it is to be an assassin, for the dead to no longer matter.”

“Until they burst. The blister that burst, I stopped then, they’ll all burst in the end, if you keep going.” Lyna said.

“Assassins don’t usually live long enough for that to happen.” Zevran said, half joking.

“So you just have to hope you die before it starts to hurt?” Lyna asked.

“Or you stop digging.” Zevran finished with a shrug.

“I can’t, how can I? If I stop- if I stop then it was all for nothing.” Lyna felt herself begin to shake, her chest tightened and eyes stung. “If I stop then Tamlin died for nothing.”

Zevran watched as the girl crumbled in on herself, her shoulders hunched as an angry sob broke, awkward and not sure what he was doing, Zevran pulled her into a hug. Then for the first time after she’d lost him, after she was sent from her home, after everything. Lyna cried. Zevran petted her hair softly, he held himself back from breaking into his own tears, instead he stood there, he held her up as she let herself stop, just for a moment.

 

Maude had gone fishing every day of her life, from when she was twelve years old, and some rain and a bit of wind wasn’t going to stop her. Whilst all the young folk - who barely new a rod from their own arm - hid in their harbour, she was going to go out and catch some damn fish. Besides, the storm always brought about a good haul; the fish were going to be practically jumping onto her boat, that was worth getting a bit wet.

Her grandchildren had put up a fuss, but they wouldn’t get her sitting in a chair in the Chantry, knitting and singing the chant. No, she was going to make the most of it, and when they realise they’ve got no food because their crops have flooded, and they were too busy pissing their boots to go out on the water, who are they going to thank? Good ol’ Maude.

That was, they would have, if her damn net hadn’t gotten torn up on some rocks.

“Stupid damn rope! I’ll use you to strangle that damn merchant! Selling me shoddy nets!” Maude cursed as she pulled the chewed-up rope on board. She knew this lake better than her own house, she’d fished in it a thousands times and a thousand times over, she’d never torn a net up like this. Maybe the store had shaken some rocks lose up on the cliff, and they’d fallen in the waters? But she would remember seeing that.

Maude jumped out of her thoughts, and nearly out her skin, when her boat shook at the impact of a Qunari landing on the bow.

“By the Maker’s hairy arse! What are you doing girl! Scaring an old woman like that!” Maude exclaimed with a slap of her knee.

“I saw your boat! I thought you might be in trouble!” Ata called over the waves. Maude snorted.

“Me? Trouble?” Maude dismissed the idea with a throw of her hand. “I’ve been fishing round here for 70 years! A bit of wind isn’t going to scare me!” Maude gave a mad laugh. “But a broken net might, we’re going to have to head back! Need a new one, then we you can help me try again if you’re up for it girl!”

Ata stood in the midst of a giant storm, in the middle of a lake that was desperately trying to drown the world, even so she couldn’t help but laugh with the old woman.

“Lets just get back to shore for now!” Ata suggested.

“Have it your way!” Maude tutted, “But with arms like those, you’re rowing!”

Ata conceded and began to wrestle the waters with the oars, only a few moments later, Morrigan landed on the bought, this time she was behind the old woman.

“Enjoying yourself?” Morrigan called over the roars of the water.

“Andraste’s clit it’s another one!” Maude cried out, making Ata’s face get hot. The south had some interesting curses. “Oh a Chasind this time?”

“Good evening madam.” Morrigan tipped her head in a mock bow to her senior. “Ata, what are you doing?”

“I’m helping – I’m dreadfully sorry, I didn’t catch your name?” Ata turned to Maude.

“Maude.” Maude said, before pulling a flask of something strong from her coat and taking a hearty swig.

“I’m helping Maude get back to shore, her net was torn it seems.” Ata explained.

“Cheating merchant! Sold me a shite net.” Maude exclaimed, “Looks like it’s been chewed by a bloody Wyvern!”

Morrigan paused, then inspected the net, it did indeed look as though it had been chewed through, perhaps not a wyvern, but certainly by something with teeth as large and sharp, perhaps even bigger. She held it up for Ata to see.

“Maude? There don’t, by chance, happen to be any Leviathan in this lake, are there?” Ata asked very calmly.

“Pfft! Not for a hundred years! The beast was slain a generation ago, by my own mother in fact!” Maude boasted proudly.

“Do you remember it?” Morrigan asked, a very sudden chill crawling up her spin.

“Of course! Oh the songs we all sing about her fight!” Maude called out.

The boat then rumbled, and another wave erupted, but it wasn’t a wave, it was instead a thirty-foot-tall, ten-foot-wide scaled monster that burst from the water.

“Ah. Shit.” Ata voiced what she and Morrigan had both been thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot twist!
> 
> Zombies are outplayed and boring. Instead i'm bringing back a classic: Sea monsters! (accept we're in a lake)
> 
> I'm excited to explore Lyna's character a bit more, especially her relationship with everyone's favourite assassin. I'm hoping for their relationship to be a bit of a father-daughter thing, I think the fact that she's so young and lost her parents, and how lonely Zevran is and how he's never had an opportunity for one, is an interesting mix that I'm looking forward to developing! 
> 
> I'm hoping to go into more depth of Morrigan and Ata's relationship in the next chapter, mostly how different the two are, I won't be delving into there shared past too much at this stage, as this is something I want to cover in a prequel. The prequel will be based entirely around Ata, I've not decided whether this will take a journal format, or whether to keep to 3rd person, but it's definitely something I want to explore. I'll take a break after this first part is concluded (a chapter or two after the Battle of Denerim) and will start writing and releasing it then, it will be based from a little while before Ata meets Morrigan, and then later her escape Tevinter. It will then follow her on in those 10 years or so before she joins the Grey Wardens. 
> 
> This piece will really connect the dots for everything we've learnt so far about Ata and her past, as well as bring in original lore that I've created myself, which greatly deviates from what the Dragon Age universe originally was. I'm really excited for this and I hope you will be too! 
> 
> Comments appreciated as always guys, any constructive criticism always helps!


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